


Team Firebird

by jaqhad (kyrilu)



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Force Collector - Kevin Shinick, Star Wars: Phasma - Delilah S. Dawson, Star Wars: Resistance Reborn - Rebecca Roanhorse
Genre: Action/Adventure, Finn-centric (Star Wars), Force-Sensitive Finn (Star Wars), Friendship, M/M, Mission Fic, Pre-Slash, Pre-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-02-23 01:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23536753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrilu/pseuds/jaqhad
Summary: Finn and a team of misfits are sent to the Unknown Regions to infiltrate a remote First Order outpost. As they brave deadly tests and slowly grow to trust each other, they discover what it means to move on from the darkness of the past and keep the light of the Resistance burning.
Relationships: Cardinal & Finn (Star Wars), Poe Dameron/Finn
Comments: 49
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is mainly Finn-centric with a grab bag of canon EU characters as his team feelings. FinnPoe is heavily implied and foreshadowed.
> 
> I’ve drawn from numerous other sources, but the major jumping-off points are Resistance Reborn, the Phasma novel, Finn’s Before the Awakening story, and Force Collector. I tried to make this accessible for those unfamiliar. 
> 
> This purposefully diverges from some Disney EU elements, but it’s mostly compliant with the films. I moved back the date of Brendol Hux’s death from 30 ABY to 27 ABY.

Finn heard it before anyone else did: the hum of the modified speeders. He put his datapad in his satchel and jostled his way through the facility, murmuring short apologies to any Resistance member or droid he hurried past.

Eventually, he stopped in front of the entrance. Red headlights shone through the reinforced transparisteel windows.

It was raining again, acid and acrid. Pacara was an old Imperial industrial planet, and its skies were giving back to the earth what had been put into it. 

Rose emerged from the rain first, wearing the hazard-suit she had spray-painted bright blue; then, behind her, someone else. Even though Finn couldn’t see his face well, he recognized that he was a stranger, someone new to the Resistance.

The stranger held a durasteel umbrella over his head. The umbrella was yet another one of Rose’s creations made to deal with life on Pacara, its canopy patterned like a Chelidae shell, singeing rain sizzling against it.

As the stranger walked out of the speeder’s customized deflector shield range and closer toward the base, Finn got a closer look at him.

Brown-haired, brown-eyed, light skinned, robe-clad -- he had black gloves on his hands and his mouth was set in a weary line. He was probably only a couple years younger than Finn, perhaps around twenty standard years of age or so.

Finn keyed in the gate code, doing it quickly so that little of the rain went in. “What happened--?” 

Rose was stepping out of her hazard-suit. “Something urgent came up. I ran into this guy and I returned early by myself. He wants to talk to the general.” She turned to him. “Remember what I said?”

“I remember,” the stranger said, closing the umbrella. “I promise this is important and it can’t wait.” 

“Are you a new recruit?” Finn asked. 

“Something like that,” the stranger said. “I can help you guys get your hands on valuable data from the First Order Security Bureau.”

* * *

The acidic storms of Pacara drove the Resistance members to become endlessly inventive indoors. Collaborating with the engineering corps, Major Angon had set up a greenhouse where he grew the Resistance’s supply of fresh fruit and vegetables.

And of course, there was the common room. It was a room next to the hangar and the control room. Caf machine in the corner; sofas and chairs to lounge on; tables for pazaak and sabacc.

That was where Poe found Finn and Rose: they were sitting on a sofa, while Rose recounted the mission to Finn. The stranger had requested a private audience with General Organa, and he was still talking to her behind closed doors. 

"That guy's making big promises," Finn was saying to Rose. 

"I told him that I'll leave him out in the acid rain if this is a First Order trap," Rose replied with grim cheer. But she added, "It sounds like this is really personal to him."

Finn waved Poe over to join them, and Poe tipped his head in return, shuffling toward the caf machine and pouring the pot.

“Doing alright?” Finn said, eyebrows raised, as his cup almost overflowed. “How are the others?”

Last night, Poe and several Resistance members had gotten back from a diplomatic mission on Chandrila. They had all looked like hell: Jessika Pava was limping; Ransolm Casterfo had been holding a shattered vibro-staff; BB-8 needed some repairs; and Poe looked plain exhausted.

It didn’t even need to be said that they had run into some First Order troopers.

Finn had felt a sharp pang of guilt, muttering, _Kark, I should have gone,_ but Poe had tugged his arms around him, and said, _I’m alive, aren’t I? Don’t worry, you’ve been doing great, coordinating strategy with the general._ He was right, Leia had even said she wanted Finn to stay, even though truth be told, Finn was getting bored brainstorming new outpost locations, ideal transport routes, First Order vulnerabilities...

Still, orders were orders and Finn knew he was doing important work. Poe and his team had survived, after all, and after Poe had pulled away from the hug, he had disappeared into his commander’s quarters for a long rest.

There always seemed to be something missing, Finn thought, in-between his and Poe’s routine ‘I’m glad you’re alive’ hugs, but he didn’t know what it was. 

Poe yawned. “I’m fine. Bee’s almost done getting fixed up and Jess will be shipshape in a week or two thanks to our med-droids. I didn’t know that Team _Falcon_ was back already.”

“We’re not,” Rose said, sighing. “The rest are still on Lerct trying to free Beaumont’s imprisoned journalist friends. I was sent back here to make a delivery.”

Karr Ravel -- that was the name of the stranger. For several years, Beaumont Kin had been keeping in touch with him, discussing Jedi artifacts and legends via holomail. When Ravel found out that Beaumont would be on Lerct again, he’d arranged to meet up with him. So, while Rey and Suralinda Javos were preoccupied scoping out a First Order detention center’s security systems, Rose and Beaumont met Ravel in Lerct’s open-air market, where he was at a corner stall, selling scarves and hats…

It turned out that he was more than a traveling tailor with a passion for Jedi history on the side. He had time-sensitive key intel about the First Order and insisted on going to the Resistance base in-person. 

Rose relayed the story to Poe. Finn listened to it again, trying to make sense of it.

“I don’t feel great about leaving Rey and Sura and Beaumont behind,” Rose admitted. “But they can pull it off. I mean, it’s _Rey_ leading the mission, right? And someone had to bring Ravel back. I couldn’t just tell him the location of our base and let him go by himself.”

“It sounds like Kin trusts him,” Poe said, thoughtful. 

“Knowing a billion languages doesn’t make you smart in everything,” Finn reminded him. 

Poe cracked a grin. “Don’t say that in front of Threepio.”

Rose made a noise of exasperation, while Finn huffed a laugh and sipped his own cup of caf. He nudged his elbow against Poe’s side. “You want to play a game of dejarik? I’ve been missing our matches.”

The rebels who remained on base these days preferred sabacc or pazaak. The usual dejarik players were busy: Chewbacca was dealing with the clean-up over the failed First Order invasion of Kashyyyk; Snap Wexley was off on yet another recruiting mission; Vi Moradi was running the outpost on Batuu; Shriv Suurgav was out on a top secret Inferno Squad mission with Zay Versio. (Finn was sort of relieved about the latter. Shriv would _not shut up_ during their games.)

“Sure,” Poe said. “We can do the three player version, if you want to join in, Rose…?”

“It’s okay,” she said, getting up. “Now that I’m back, I should probably make sure the engineering corps hasn’t burned anything down. I have some armory work to oversee.” 

They both wished her luck as she left, while Poe pulled up the holo-display in the room, selecting recreational mode.

It was easy. Familiar. Moving glowing creatures forward across the board and watching them attack. He and Poe had played near constantly on the _Millenium Falcon_ when they had the downtime, often against each other or Chewbacca. 

In a strange way, holochess reminded Finn of the simulations he had taken part of as a young cadet. His instructor Captain Cardinal had come up with intricate scenarios for the troopers-in-training to participate in.

 _Spoiled children in the New Republic play grav-ball,_ Cardinal had told them. _You’re different. You’re intended for greater things in service of the First Order._

This was no battle simulation. It was just a game, and it was just Poe, catching up about recent missions and recent responsibilities, chatting about mutual friends and allies. Finn liked watching Poe’s face as he decided his next move -- sometimes he would be quick and reckless, gesturing a piece forward, eyes bright; other times, he would stop, his brow furrowed, considering.

They were interrupted when the door to the control room opened. It was Leia, with the boy Rose had brought back from Lerct behind her.

“Finn,” she said. “Just the person I’m looking for. I know you’ve been feeling restless on-base. I’m giving you a team and a mission. You’re leading it.” 

Finn blinked, but immediately snapped to attention. “Yes, sir… wait, me?” He hadn’t properly been put in command of a team in the Resistance yet. Either he was partnered with Poe or someone else, authority being shared and informal.

“Yes, you,” Leia said, her mouth an amused line. “I’ve sent the full orders to you and your team and you’ll leave at 2100 tonight. May the Force be with you.” 

Finn returned: “May the Force be with you.” 

To his surprise, he heard Karr Ravel echo it to Leia, too -- “May the Force be with you,” -- his head raised, his open mouth revealing a chipped front tooth, an unfathomable expression in his eyes as he looked at Leia.

“Am I--?” Poe started.

“You’ll be taking over Finn’s analyst role on base for now,” Leia informed him. “And Commander Zibsara could use some help training the new pilot recruits. I need you here, Poe.” 

Poe looked like he wanted to object, but he didn’t. “I understand, General.” 

Leia gave him a small smile, and she slipped back into the control room, leaving the three of them alone in the common room. 

Finn felt a pang -- he wished that Poe would be coming along as well -- but Leia had her reasons. He turned to Ravel. “So, you’re tagging along? I’m Finn. Leader of… I don’t think we have a team name yet.”

“You’ll think of one eventually,” Poe said. 

Ravel only nodded. “I have to get back to the ship. I need to move it into your base’s hangar and have my droid charged.” Then, abruptly, he left.

Well, he was a mysterious one, wasn’t he? Finn grimaced. He dearly hoped that the rest of the team Leia had given him would be easy enough to work with. Finn was used to missions with Rey, Poe, Rose, or Chewbacca by his side, and this was certainly a change of pace. 

Poe seemed to note the doubt on Finn’s face. “You’ll do fine.” He set his hand on Finn’s shoulders. “Leia knows what she’s doing. You’re a tough rebel, Finn. I’m sure you and your team will be amazing out there.” 

Finn’s datapad pinged. He projected the mission details in front of him. He and Poe peered at the list of names:

COMMANDER FINN

LIEUTENANT TEZA NASZ

PACER AGOYO - PHANTOM SQUADRON

ENSIGN YAMA DEX

KARR RAVEL

Poe’s eyes were wide. “Wow. Interesting choices. Best of luck, buddy.” 

This was Finn’s team. The mysterious stranger -- two teenage kids -- and an ex-warlord that one of the aformentioned teenage kids wanted to murder. 

“I thought it was an unofficial Resistance policy to never put Agoyo and Nasz on the same mission,” Finn said. He could feel a headache coming on. 

“General Organa’s orders are _official_ Resistance policy.”

“Poe, if they send me back in a bodybag with Nasz’s vibro-ax embedded in my back, bury me in the greenhouses so the jogan fruits get fertilizer.” 

“... That’s not funny, man.”

“You don’t think my body has the right nutrients? The First Order invested two decades into training and developing _this._ ” Finn pointed to himself. 

“Really, _really_ not funny,” Poe said, but his eyes were sweeping Finn up and down -- suddenly, involuntarily, intensely. It wasn’t the first time Poe had stared at him like this. It was a gaze that burned like the acid rain of Pacara, like the sun of Jakku, like the bolt of a blaster. 

Finn let him look. 

Eventually, Poe cleared his throat and looked away. “Let’s read over your mission assignment. The general gave me the day off to recover from Chandrila -- but I’d rather be of use helping you plan this out, Team Leader.”

So, they brought two trays of food from the mess hall. Over lunch in Poe’s quarters, they pored over the information, holo-displays lit up around them, multiple multicolored screens of text and charts and maps.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Pacer Agoyo and Yama Dex. Finn took the opportunity to examine the youngest members of his team as they entered the room.

Pacer wore his flightsuit, goggles pushed up to his head; they were the type of custom-made goggles that helped the Resistance pilots see through the planet’s toxic clouds. He was around sixteen, seventeen standard years of age, a dark-haired, dark-eyed human recruited from Nuja by Wedge Antilles. He must have just gotten back from training exercises after receiving Leia’s message.

Yama was dressed in an unassuming Resistance support staff uniform -- collared blue shirt, brown vest zipped over it -- while her bright red hair was styled into a braid, the tail of it tied by a neon purple ribbon. She was younger than Pacer, fifteen standard years of age, a human who had fled the First Order’s employ on Corellia. She usually worked in the control room, doing datawork and essential tech tasks. 

“Sir,” Yama said, snapping her heels together and saluting. “I was looking for you. You weren’t in your quarters or the control room or the commons. Pacer suggested that we, er, try Commander Dameron’s quarters and it looked like he was right.”

Poe coughed. Finn said, “You okay?”

“It’s nothing,” Poe said, pushing his tray away from in front of him. One of the Mon Calamari squads had made lunch out of a native Pacaran bird. “I’m not a fan of Mon Calamarian cooking. They season everything like it’s fish, even if it’s not fish.” Finn shrugged, bemused; _he_ liked lunch alright.

Pacer had a smirk on his face. It disappeared once his attention turned to the hovering screens. “Is this our mission? Me and Dex haven’t looked over the details yet.”

“It is.”

Yama scrutinized one of the holos: the image of a blue planet. “That’s Rakata Prime,” she said, in surprise. “There’s a First Order outpost over there.”

Finn added, “There’s also a backup communications tower where the First Order Security Bureau stores their data. Our mission is to steal the data.” 

That was the new piece of intel that Karr Ravel had brought. The Resistance already knew that there was an outpost on Rakata Prime due to the early recon work of Commander Doza. However, sometime after the Hosnian cataclysm, the First Order had constructed the tower and buffed up security. As a remote location in the Unknown Regions, the planet was the ideal place to transmit and hoard top secret information, in case of a loss of a base or a Star Destroyer… 

The First Order Security Bureau was the intelligence arm of the First Order. If the Resistance got their hands on the FOSB data, they could identify First Order spies and collaborators. They could get a sense of the First Order’s more covert operations, as well as any information the Order had gathered. 

“So, how are we getting in?” Pacer asked.

“The only way we can,” Finn said. He drew the holo of Rakata Prime toward him, spinning the blue orb between his palms. “We join the First Order.” 

* * *

The armory was always loud. Tools clinked and clanked. Power tools whirred. Machines hummed. Music blared -- it was a rollicking jatz tune this time, while a porg perched on a console whistled along. Finn, Poe, Pacer, and Yama descended upon the chaos.

Rose stopped fiddling with the cannon contraption in front of her, pulled up her safety goggles, and grinned in greeting. She said something--

But they couldn’t hear her. Finn tapped his finger to his ear. 

Rose visibly sighed in consternation. She cupped her hands around her mouth and bellowed: “ _At ease!_ ” 

It was like a switch had flipped. Immediately, the technician droids stopped in their tracks and the music muted. The human quartermaster -- Lieutenant Aarton Chireen -- quit rummaging through racks of equipment and straightened. The Talpiddian weapons specialist -- Huper Tenrecs -- shut down his buzzing saw, his grey fur standing on end.

“Got any big weapons orders, General?” Tenrecs said, squinting, at Yama. 

“Um,” Yama said.

“Not the general this time, either,” Rose said in amusement, putting her hand on Tenrecs’ shoulder. 

“Aw, stang,” Tenrecs grumbled. “You humans are hard to tell apart. Well, I'm bound to get it right eventually. What are you here for?”

“Mission assignment to Lehon,” Finn said. “We’re here to get outfitted.” 

“Oh, right,” Tenrecs said. “That was Nasz who came by earlier.”

“We made some modifications to Nasz’s double-bladed vibro-axe and checked that her vibro-knives are functional,” Rose explained. “Now _there’s_ a connoisseur who knows her vibro-weapons.” 

Finn raised his eyebrow at Poe. 

“She’s not going to stab you, Finn,” Poe said. “If anything--” He jerked his thumb to the side.

Pacer had started arguing with the quartermaster in the corner of the room. “I’m not wearing _this_ ,” he said, appalled.

Chireen said, patiently, “It’s an undercover mission, kid.” 

“We’re supposed to be new recruits, aren’t we? Can’t we wear civilian clothes or generic flightsuits?”

“What’s the problem, Agoyo?” Finn said. He put on his best ‘team leader’ voice. Because he was in charge. 

Pacer tilted his head toward the uniform that Chireen was holding out. Finn recognized it immediately -- it was what he used to wear as a First Order cadet. Bland grey uniform shirt with a First Order patch on the sleeves, grey shoulderpads, black pants, black belt, black boots. 

“Our cover won’t work unless we’re all in uniform,” Finn told him. 

“It’s never been my style, either,” Yama said. “But we’ve got to do what we have to.” 

Pacer sneered. “Easy for you two to say. I’m guessing Nasz was happy to accept an officer uniform for herself, too. It’s easy to fall back on old habits.” 

Finn bristled, while Yama looked taken aback.

“Agoyo!” Poe said, striding up to the kid. “Care to repeat that again? You’re on a new team now, and Finn’s your leader. I thought you’ve learned to work with us. I’ve been hearing good things from Dove about your flight skills during recon missions.” 

“With all due respect, Commander,” Pacer said, “I’m a pilot. I’m not a spy. I understand that the Resistance needs anyone who can contribute. But I’m not thrilled to be the odd rebel out on this squadron of ex-Imperial, ex-First Order, and… whoever that shady Ravel guy is.” 

“This isn’t a game of grav-ball where you’re the captain choosing your best friends,” Finn said, the retort coming out sharp and short. “General Organa hand-picked us and she trusts us to pull this off. This is an infiltration mission during wartime, and we’re _all_ rebels here.” 

Pacer snatched the cadet uniform and tucked it over his arm. “Fine. Whatever you say, sir.” He stormed off toward Rose and Tenrecs, muttering something about getting a better weapon than a vibro-ax, while Finn and Poe traded glances. This was a problem. 

“I don’t think he means what he said,” Yama volunteered quietly. “Not to me or you, Finn, sir. It upset him to see Nasz on the team list, that’s all.” 

“I hope you’re right,” Finn said, running his fingers through his hair. It was starting to grow, since he was no longer adhering to First Order regulation. He might have to cut it now. “Let’s not throw anyone in the brig before our mission even starts.” 

“That’s the spirit,” Poe said. 

* * *

“Acid Squad. Sunbeam Squad. Sarlacc Squad. Spark Squad. Porg Squad.” 

“No, no, no, maybe, definitely not,” Finn said, unimpressed. “You’re bantha shit at picking names.”

“I’m bad at names? Okay, Kade Genti, Master of Section Nine--” 

“Kade is _cool_ ,” Finn said. He loved those comics: epic adventures about a space adventurer who wielded a vibro-sword, slaying krayt-dragons and outwitting pirates. It was the best kind of contraband that he had gotten access to in the First Order -- he wasn’t a fan of the soapy holodramas or racing tournaments that the other troopers vividly followed -- and Finn wanted to use the hero as a cover name every chance he got. 

Hell, if Poe hadn’t suggested ‘Finn,’ Finn likely would’ve named himself Kade if he found some other way to escape the First Order. Maybe his last name would have been Cometbright or Nobleblade after the other fictional heroes he had liked.

“Oh, stars,” Poe said, and Finn flushed -- he hadn’t realized he was defending himself out loud. “You’re incredible. You really are.” 

Finn’s cheeks were burning, but he felt a rueful smile twitch at the corners of his mouth. “It’s probably a good thing I met you and you called me ‘Finn.’ Your life wasn’t the only thing that needed saving. My dignity was at stake.” 

“We saved each other,” Poe agreed, and his dark eyes were warm, flickering. “It’s alright. Your team name isn’t important. I’m surprised that the general didn’t pick one, but this _is_ a last-minute undercover operation. I’m used to squad names being a thing because we pilots get custom uniforms, logos, colors."

Finn bumped his shoulders against Poe’s. “I like it. More creative than the boring letters and numbers that we used in the First Order.”

“Right?” Poe said, nudging him back. “Stay safe out there. I wish we could’ve had more time to catch up, now that I’m finally back from Chandrila.” His mouth was downturned in a soft frown of disappointment.

“Me, too,” Finn murmured. He wanted to tell Rey about his mission, too, but she wasn’t responding to his holocalls. Still busy breaking into a First Order jail on Lerct with Beaumont Kin and Suralinda Javos, he wagered.

Finn looked up at the stars. The acid storm of Pacara had abated. He and Poe were in the transparisteel greenhouse, checking on the koyo seeds that Poe had planted sometime before he left for Chandrila. It wasn’t much, merely little shoots of green in the composted soil. 

_In time,_ Poe had said, _these will grow into saplings with fan-shaped leaves, and later, there will be koyo fruit, too. Sweeter than meiloorun, sweeter than sunfruit -- it reminds me of home, of Yavin 4._

Finn still hadn’t found his home yet -- he still hadn’t found his final place to unpack -- but here, in the Resistance, it was the closest thing he had at the moment. Even though he had been feeling on edge stuck on-base, even though Pacara was a polluted planet and they were living in an abandoned Imperial factory, for stars’ sake… he was going to miss this.

His routine as a Resistance strategist hadn’t been bad, not really, but it was time to go, time to plot a course to the Unknown Regions and take up the uniform of the First Order once again.

They were sitting side-by-side on a bench in the greenhouse gardens, shoulders touching, knees brushing, and Poe _looked_ at him again, looked and looked and looked, but whatever he could have said was caught at the back of his throat, dead before he could even start, as if he didn't know what to say.

That was okay, Finn thought. He didn’t know what to say, either. It was enough to count the wheeling stars in the dark skies of Pacara. It was enough of a goodbye to sit companionably in silence, waiting until it was time for him to leave.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feat. the start of flashbacks to Finn's stormtrooper cadet days, and the appearance of a familiar First Order villain in the present.

“I still think this is a stupid idea,” Nines said.

They were crouched behind a barrier in the simulation room. The objective of this sim initially seemed straightforward: _Get to the other side._

However, it wasn’t very straightforward when you had cadets from FL squad firing at you, as well as rotating cannons shooting stun bolts every two minutes. Slip was already lying unconscious in the corner, where FN-2187 had dragged him to safety.

“Shut up and get back to covering me,” FN-2187 said, as he worked on prying the barrier from its place. It was a formation that was installed for battle sims like these -- intended to mimic natural cover -- so it wasn’t permanently attached to the durasteel floors. 

Pixel -- FN-1971 -- was a bit of a natural mechanic and slicer. She usually used her talents to bypass the First Order HoloNet filters to download comics and hologames. Or she modified the MSE-6 droids to race against each other. Now, in the sim room, that meant that Pixel had snuck in some of her tools, which FN-2187 was determined to put to use. 

Nines let out an annoyed huff of a breath, but he went back to firing, blaster flashing red as he shot at the enemy.

FN-2187 spoke into the comlink in his helmet. “Are we good to go?”

“Ready when you are,” Pixel said.

“Give me a second,” Zeroes said. “Fragging thing isn’t budging-- okay. Got it.” 

FN-2187 grabbed onto the barrier, and he motioned for Nines to do the same. Nines grunted, shot off a final round of blasts, and then followed FN-2187. “Go, Pix.” 

“Hold tight, soldiers,” she said through the comms.

That was the moment when gravity in the room turned off. FN-2187 heard yelps as the FL cadets went zooming up in the air -- and, clutching onto the hovering barrier with one hand, blaster in the other hand, FN-2187 took the opportunity to stun two of the flailing enemy soldiers.

Nines let out a low moan. FN-2187 had forgotten that he wasn’t great with heights, which was a weird phobia for someone who had lived on a Star Destroyer all his life. Brains were like that.

Nines hissed, “I told you this was a stupid idea. How are we supposed to control these things? It’s not like they have thrusters.” 

“Physics,” FN-2187 said. “I think, anyway.”

“You think?!”

FN-2187 aimed a succession of blaster bolts at a nearby wall. He had to keep up a steady volley, but eventually, he steered the platform they were perched on, the force of it propelling them eastward? -- no, downward -- toward the other side of the room.

He and Zeroes were the first ones to reach the gateway. Soon, Pixel and Zeroes joined them on their own makeshift hoverboards. 

Suddenly, there was a roaring sound.

Gravity was back, sending the remaining FN squad members crashing against the door, the unmoored barriers cushioning their fall. The floating stunned cadets of FL squad -- plus Slip -- weren’t so lucky, and FN-2187 resigned himself to visiting Slip in the medbay tonight. He made a mental note to pocket an extra protein pack during dinner, since the medbay's usual fare of nutro-pills tasted notoriously bad.

The door opened. FN-2187 scrambled to his feet.

“Really, FN-2187?” Captain Cardinal asked. 

“Why do you think it was me?” FN-2187 said, taking off his helmet. “But yes, sir. Really, sir.” He wiped the sweat from his brow and arched an eyebrow at his instructor.

“Don’t take all the credit,” Pixel said, casting off her own helmet; she was a brown-skinned, blue-eyed human. “We wouldn’t have executed this plan without my tools or slicing skills. But it _was_ technically Eight-Seven’s idea.” 

FN-2187 added: “We cleared the sim. No matter what methods we used.” 

“I’m not sure it counts as clearing the sim if you sliced your way through it.”

The spherical communications droid that always accompanied the captain chirped a series of beeps.

Pixel said, “Iris says that it was brilliant.” 

The captain sighed. “FN-2199, FN-2000, see if you can rouse FL squad and FN-2003 and accompany them to the medbay. FN-1971, you owe me a full report outlining the security vulnerabilities in our gravity generator system due tomorrow at 0700. FN-2187, walk with me.” 

FN-2187 looked wistfully at his fellow squad members -- Pixel was scowling since she _hated_ writing essays, but she mouthed ‘good luck’ to him, while Nines’ expression was a classic ‘I told you so’ while Zeroes only gave him a solemn nod.

FN-2187 trailed after the captain. Cardinal was wearing his usual red armor, but he was unhelmeted. He stopped by the viewport in one of the hallways, and FN-2187 uncertainly halted beside him. 

“What did you learn?” Cardinal asked him. 

“What do you mean, sir?”

“Our training program is no haphazard thing,” Cardinal said. “It’s structured. Classroom lessons about military history and tactics. Echani arts techniques. And of course, simulations of battle. I want to know what you learned from today’s sim. Unless your grand takeaway is that you should order your fellow troopers to slice the way to victory for you-- in which case, I don’t think that you learned anything.” 

“No!” The objection burst from him before he could think better of it. FN-2187 quickly regained his composure. He said, “I did learn important things today.”

“Oh?”

FN-2187 thought hard. “I learned that you should use whatever resources you have on hand to your advantage. I learned that you can catch your enemy off-guard if you disrupt your surroundings. And… the mission objective isn’t as far away as you first think it is. It’s not like hyperspace travel to the other side of the galaxy. It’s reachable. Sometimes, you can _fall_.” 

Iris emitted another stream of binary beeps. And, to FN-2187’s surprise, Cardinal smiled. “She’s right. You _are_ brilliant, Eight-Seven.” 

“I’m not,” FN-2187 insisted. “I couldn’t have beaten this sim without my squadron, sir. Not without Pixel’s slicing. Not without Zeroes and Nines helping me, either. And even Slip -- we were able to figure out the cannons’ rotation patterns because of how he got shot down.” 

“It was your plan in the first place,” Cardinal said. “And what you said about falling -- that shows that you have perspective, Eight-Seven. That’s what we’re looking for.”

“Looking for--?”

“In officers.”

Disbelievingly -- “You think I could be an officer one day.” FN-2187 had never really thought about his future. It was an unchanging routine of lesson after lesson every day. It was all that he knew.

“One day, you could be one of the greatest officers in the First Order,” Cardinal said, quietly. “You have the right heart and the right mind for it.”

Was this about his placement on the cadet scoreboard? “Remembering the outcomes of ancient Clone Wars battles doesn’t make me some kind of grand admiral.” 

“Of course not,” Cardinal said. “It’s the sum of everything that I’ve observed so far. In the classroom, in the training room, in the simulation room. With me and with other cadets. Today’s events are only confirmation of that, and I expect to see further achievements and insights from you.” 

FN-2187 made himself look at the darkness of space through the viewport. He was aware that Cardinal was stern and exacting, but encouraging to his students, too. FN-2187 was no stranger to hearing Cardinal’s kind words -- yet this was new and unusual. 

He had been singled out. He was more than a cadet among the crowd.

“I -- I’m honored, Captain,” FN-2187 said. “I don’t know if I’m going to be an officer someday. But I think I want to keep winning, me and FN squadron together.” 

Cardinal’s eyes were warm. “Then keep winning, Eight-Seven.” 

* * *

Teza Nasz was almost unrecognizable. 

Gone was the coal black face paint. Gone was the jumpsuit of armor plates and fur hides. Her dyed red hair was shorn neck length; it still flared fiery against her dark skin, but no longer did it cascade in long waves of scarlet locs.

Like Finn, she was suited in a First Order uniform. Her posture was that of a looming Imperial officer, but with every little movement, you could still see it in every twitch of her muscles and every ripple of her strong shoulders: she remained a stalking warlord of Rattatak. 

For a startling second, Finn was reminded of Captain Phasma. He willed the mental image away, and instead held out his hand. “Lieutenant Nasz. Looking forward to working with you.” 

Finn recalled -- Nasz had been stationed at an outpost on a moon of Gatalenta, handling logistics for the Resistance. She coordinated the delivery of supplies and assets. If needed, she flew escort to their transport vessels.

She accepted his hand and shook it, her grip tight. “Likewise. I’ve read some of the reports. That was some quick thinking during the Siege of Orish.”

That… wasn’t one of his finest moments. Finn grimaced, but made himself say, “Thanks. I heard you single-handedly shot down seven TIE Silencers.” 

“Nine,” Nasz corrected. “And a TIE Baron. Magnificent thing. I was on my way here to brief General Organa about my latest firefight when I received her message about this mission. She has excellent timing. Although her choice of a team is certainly… fascinating.”

She was looking at Pacer Agoyo who was entering the hangar with Yama Dex. They wore the First Order cadet uniforms, packs slung over their shoulders. Yama waved at Nasz, her green eyes shimmering bright in genuine friendliness. Meanwhile, Pacer’s face immediately darkened at the sight of Nasz.

Finn shot Pacer a warning glare. The young pilot bared his teeth, but didn’t say anything to Nasz. 

Yama said, in an obvious attempt to dissipate the tension: “So, this is our ship.”

The ship in question was a First Order transport and assault shuttle-- a TIE Echelon. Like other typical TIEs, it sported angled chirodactyl-like wings. Unlike typical TIEs, its body was a slim rectangular prism rather than a sphere. Its boxy face, glinting red, appeared as if it was wearing a visor. 

Rose and Karr Ravel had stolen it from the occupying forces on Lerct. Finn had never been on an Echelon before, although he’d been on numerous other First Order shuttles before he defected. It must be a newer model.

“She's no Baron, but she'll do,” Nasz said, giving the TIE an assessing look.

Finn found himself relaxing. He was relieved that he was reminded of Poe instead of Phasma in the moment -- _I always wanted to fly one of these things_ \-- even though he knew he would never entirely understand pilots. 

She wouldn’t stab him after all. 

Karr Ravel was already onboard the Echelon. He was dressed in a black TIE pilot flightsuit, helmet lying on the cockpit’s console. Beside him, there was a droid that probably gave most mechanics nightmares when they saw it. 

“Is that thing supposed to be a medical droid?” Pacer asked.

“A hybrid protocol-astromech-medical droid,” Ravel said, without turning around. He was keying location coordinates into the TIE. “I built him myself.” 

“I’m Arzee-Seven,” the droid said. “Pleased to meet your acquaintance. Karr needs all the help he can get. He was about to rush into this alone because sometimes he has zero sense, especially when it comes to--”

“Shut it, Arzee.” Ravel swiveled to face them. “So, you’re my team. Finn and -- I saw the names, but who’s who?” 

“Pacer Agoyo -- Ensign Dex -- Lieutenant Nasz,” Finn said, pointing them out. 

“And if you’re willing to cede the controls, I’d like to fly,” Nasz interjected. 

“Help yourself,” Ravel said. “I usually leave most of the flying to Arzee, honestly. And there’s something I have to do. I’ll be in the cargo hold if you need me.”

“He seriously has to stop doing that mysterious walking out of the room thing,” Finn said to no one in particular. “We’re on the same karking ship.” 

“There’s nothing stopping you from following him,” Yama said. She started buckling herself into one of the passenger seats.

“Fair enough,” Finn said, with a sigh. “Play nicely. Please.” 

Pacer was strapping himself in as well. He muttered, “Tell that to my--”

“Agoyo.” 

“I was about to say: _Tell that to my dead brother, who was murdered by the ex-Imperial officer piloting this ship_. Not something vulgar. Sir.” 

Finn put his hand on Pacer’s shoulder. “I’d prefer that you say the vulgar thing instead.” 

There were no viewports in the cargo hold. Finn heard the engines hum as Nasz powered up the TIE. Then, he felt the moment it lifted from the hangar and ascended above Pacara, shrieking.

Ravel sat against a crate and dug into a satchel. As the ship smoothly skipped into hyperspace, he carefully pulled off his gloves -- they weren’t the TIE uniform pilot gloves, but the same black leather gloves he had been wearing earlier. Needle in hand, Ravel began sewing.

Finn took a seat in front of a neighboring crate. “I almost forgot that Rose said you were a tailor.”

Ravel started. “What about it?”

“Nothing,” Finn said. “Just wondering how someone like you got -- tangled up -- with the First Order Security Bureau.” 

That earned him an eye-roll. “Original. You should do stand-up at cantinas.”

Finn shrugged unapologetically. “What happened to your gloves?” 

“Some of the raindrops got on it,” Ravel said. “Who knew that the Resistance would call that acid pit home?” 

“You should’ve seen our last base. That planet was gassed by the Empire ages ago -- you couldn’t go outside without a filtration mask. At least Pacara’s mostly breathable, even if you need a hazard suit or umbrella.” 

The move from Anoat to Pacara was basically trading one polluted planet for another. Many of the other Resistance members had grumbled about it. 

But it had to be done. General Organa and the rest of the _Millenium Falcon_ team had returned with a fleet of Mon Calamari ships and crews. They were worried about the First Order being on their tail, especially after they had wrought destruction and devastation on Tah’Nuhna, Mon Cala, and so many others. 

So, Leia had ordered a base relocation. Like Anoat, Pacara was marked too hazardous to inhabit in everyone’s databanks, so it was beneath First Order notice.

At least Pacara didn’t have giant Anoatian pit beasts, even though Finn missed Anoat’s native population of akk dogs. Both he and Rose had become way too attached...

Finn doubted Ravel cared about the intricacies of rebel life. He inquired out loud, “Why don’t you wear the TIE pilot gloves? It’s the same thing.” 

“It isn’t,” Ravel said. “This is my own pair of gloves. Someone important to me gave it to me.” 

Finn tilted his head to the side. “I know the feeling.”

He lapsed into silence and watched Ravel work. Ravel’s fingers were nimble as he patched up the gloves. It was a lot like watching Rose work on her inventions -- or Rey fix the _Falcon_ \-- or Poe prod at his new X-wing. 

Finn could feel drowsiness suffusing his senses, making his eyelids droop and his breath slow. On Pacara, it was late at night. He slept, the familiar scream of the TIE reverberating in his ears.

Later, Nasz woke him with a light touch of her hand. "Commander. We've reached the Lehon system."

"Commander--?" Finn repeated, disoriented, wondering who Nasz was talking to. He rubbed his eyes. "Oh. Appreciate the heads-up. And Finn is fine. I don't care too much about rank."

Leia had awarded him the title after he and Chewie had delivered bacta and weapons to Kashyyyk and assisted the Wookiee insurgency. He had waved the promotion off, correcting anyone who tried to call him ‘commander.’ It felt like they were addressing someone else.

Nasz looked baffled, but nodded. “Finn.” 

She bent to rouse Ravel -- he had fallen asleep, too, slumped against a crate with his black gloves in his lap. He jerked before she could make contact, his eyes widening -- and the movement resulted in his bare hands brushing against the sheathed vibro-daggers hanging from her belt. 

Ravel drew back quickly, his fingers fluttering away as if shocked by electricity. He gasped, “ _What are you_ ,” and swooned like the Twi’lek maidens in the holodramas that Rose and Snap liked to watch. 

Mercifully, Nasz caught Ravel before he hit his head against the durasteel hull, cradling his limp form in her arms. 

“I didn’t do that,” Nasz said. 

Finn thought: It was probably the first time in her life that she had disclaimed responsibility for someone knocked out in front of her.

“Yeah,” Finn said. “I don’t think you did, either.” 

* * *

When Ravel woke up in the cockpit, his body draped across one of the passenger seats, he had an expectant audience waiting for him.

“Your droid said that these fainting spells are normal for you,” Finn said, his arms folded across his chest. 

Ravel’s face was ashen, wan. With effort, he sat up on the seat. “I get… little seizures. It’s nothing serious.” He pulled on his gloves, which had been discarded on the armrest. “I have it under control.” 

“Great,” Pacer said. He was in the pilot’s seat, having taken over for Nasz. “Just great. We’ve got an epileptic on our team. It looks like even General Organa isn't immune to the effects of old age. Clever decision-making and mission-planning in motion.” 

“Don’t talk about Leia like that.” It was Ravel who spoke up, sharp, before Finn could snap at the truculent teenager. “You have no idea what she’s been through. She and her brother both.”

“And you do?” 

Ravel reddened. “I do. More than you, kid.” 

“You joined the Resistance _yesterday_ \--” 

Finn cut them off. “This isn’t the time for this. Ravel, are you sure you have this medical condition of yours handled? If these seizures are endangering your health and our mission -- our lives -- we’re locking you in the hold. No arguments.” 

Nasz was already cracking her knuckles. Ravel cast her a wary glance, then released a gusty breath, one of his gloved hands massaging the temples on his forehead. “I’m fine. Leia knows about my condition. She trusts me for this.” 

Finn said: “... Okay. Just let me know if it’s gonna be a problem again.” 

Finn really hoped that he was doing this team leader thing right. 

Before they entered Rakata Prime’s atmosphere, Finn sent an encrypted message to Pacara, letting General Organa know that they had reached their destination. He decided to try reaching Rey again, and this time, she picked up.

Finn retreated to the cargo hold for privacy. At his suggestion, the rest of the team were currently reviewing the mission datafiles again -- all except Yama, because she had confidence in her eidetic memory -- and instead, she was regretfully fixing and refixing her hair so that it was more in line with First Order regulation. 

“Hey, Finn,” Rey said, the blue holo image of her illuminating from Finn’s handheld holotransmitter. She had a hood pulled over her head, and she looked frazzled, her face wrinkled in stress. “Sorry I couldn’t answer earlier, but it’s crazy over here on Lerct.”

“That’s what Rose said,” Finn said, leaning against one of the crates. “How’s journalist-liberating going?”

Rey’s mouth twisted in consternation. “In progress. We managed to retrieve datacards that the First Order confiscated from the reporters, but we couldn’t free them in time. The First Order’s transporting them for a sham public trial. Me and Suralinda and Beaumont are intending on crashing it.”

“Oof. Get outta there alive, alright?” 

“I will,” she said, smiling. “The Force is with me. With us. So, Rose made it back to base... ? I wasn’t able to meet that informant of Beaumont’s.” 

“That’s actually what I was going to talk to you about,” Finn said. “Rose brought him back, and Leia decided to send me and a team based on his intel. We’re about to go planet-side right now.” 

“You finally get to go off-base.” 

“I finally get to go off-base,” Finn agreed. “Though that has its own issues, too. There’s something I want to ask you.” 

They talked. He missed Rey deeply, and he wished that he had her by his side for this mission, twirling her newly-repaired blue lightsaber and Force pushing things and just being _here_ , a friend he knew, in the place of this ragtag team of his. 

He did his best to push past his doubts. He told himself: _I can do this. I can work with what Leia’s given me._

Before ending the holocall, Finn soundly rejected Rey’s ideas for team names: _Gnaw-jaw, Tree, Bloggin, Porg_ \-- “You, too? I’m _not_ naming my team after porgs” -- “Sorry, Porg Leader,” and, grinning, they bid each other goodbye. 

* * *

Rakata Prime was dazzling blue. It was a world of water and sky with pockets of green land scattered across its surface. One of its moons was large and looming in the horizon. 

The First Order outpost stuck out in the midst of it, a grey garrison of duracrete and durasteel settled on the sea. As the TIE broke through the blue and headed toward a landing platform, the comm crackled. 

“This is Garrison Y3-418 of the First Order Frontier Corps. Identify yourself, TIE shuttle.”

Ravel said, the helmet on, his voice vocoder tinny: “Pilot KR-731 of ES-11. I’m transporting some cargo as well as two officers. They’re here to accompany cadets for testing. I’m uploading the clearance code now.” His gloved hands flew across the console keys. 

A pregnant pause. 

“Received. You’re cleared for landing, ES-11.” 

Ravel clicked off the comms and turned to them, as if to say, ‘See? You can trust me.’ Apparently, he was the one who had provided the Resistance with a list of First Order codes in the first place. 

Finn said, “One step at a time, Ravel.” 

The Echelon descended, both Ravel and Nasz easing it downward. The ex-warlord said, “I wonder if General Organa will let me fly the _Nightshrike_ for future missions.” 

“Nightshrike?”

“This ship needs a name.” 

“It’s a good suggestion,” Pacer said to Nasz. He had been sitting in sullen silence, but now he piped up.

They all stared at him.

“What?” Pacer said. “It sounds badass. I’m in Phantom Squadron, for pfassk’s sake. I know a good name when I hear one.” 

One step at a time. 

_Still, even though it’s a perfectly fine name for a TIE, we are definitely not calling ourselves Team Nightshrike_ , Finn thought. It was too -- ominous -- for his tastes.

There was a woman in black standing on the platform. She was a First Order officer, her golden hair twisted in a bun, her arms drawn behind her back. As the crew of the _Nightshrike_ disembarked, Finn noted her pointed brows, her severe cheekbones, and her eyes. Her eyes--

Her right eye was rusty hazel, normal and unremarkable for a human. Her left eye was devoured by jet black, the iris glimmering white.

“Welcome,” she pronounced, “to the Frontier Trials. You barely missed the deadline for the start of the next round.” 

“Well, we’re here now,” Finn said. “I’m Lieutenant Kade. And this is Lieutenant Tezuna. We’re nominating Genn Specter and Yaga Dente from Atterra.” He adopted his best imperious tone, sweeping his hand to indicate his team behind him: Nasz, impassive; Pacer, unflinching; Yama, nervous but steeled; and Ravel, inscrutable.

The officer surveyed them. The abyss of her eye gleamed and flickered. “You trust that they’ll pass?”

“We do,” Finn affirmed. “They have the potential to be more than ordinary troopers. I think they have what it takes to begin training for the 709th Legion.”

“I see,” she said. “Such confidence. I anticipate watching your recruits’ performances. I am Commander Malarus, and I expect nothing less than absolute perfection.” 

* * *

Malarus insisted on taking ‘Kade’ and ‘Tezuna’ on a tour around the First Order outpost. She led them onto a waterspeeder, settling in a throne-like chair at the prow, while ordering a stormtrooper to navigate the speeder around the canals that connected the facility’s buildings.

Finn had already studied the layout of the compound ahead of time. Besides the comm tower, nothing much had changed since Venisa Doza had scouted the area, and he mostly tuned out the First Order officer.

He felt the wind on his face and took in the scent of piercing brine. He wanted to reach down to the waters, skimming his fingers across the surface to see if it was hot, or cold, or in-between. 

There was the mission to keep in mind, he reminded himself. Yet there was a strange nagging feeling in the back of his head as he reflected on the expanse of Rakata’s turbulent frothing blue… foreboding? Worry? Deja vu? 

“It’s an impressive operation you’ve got here,” he said, politely, when Malarus finished her spiel. “I imagine it’s a big privilege. Maintaining this outpost -- the First Order’s presence -- on Rakata Prime, of all places.” 

He couldn’t help the dig. He knew that she had run into Poe and the former Black Squadron a while back. Not only had they been responsible for the destruction of her cruiser _Enshado_ , they had also gotten her thrown into a Cato Neimoidian jail.

The First Order had sprung her, but her failure had certainly garnered her superiors’ ire, resulting in exile to this distant garrison. It was no Star Destroyer bridge, no occupying invasion of a valuable resource-filled planet. It was the closest to humiliating annihilation a First Order officer could suffer besides death by Supreme Leader Force choke.

And there were even some officers out there who would say that they would prefer the Force choke.

A thin sour smile played over Malarus’ lips. She said, relenting: “I confess, it’s not the most glorious of assignments. The natives of Rakata Prime are barbarians who survive on subsistence hunting. There’s not much use for them. Old stories say that they once were an advanced technological society. Gone now, of course.”

Nasz said, “A woman like you, however… I’m sure that you’re making the most of this.”

“Indeed, Lieutenant Tezuna,” she said. “For roughly over a decade, Garrison Y3-418 was simply a front for our Frontier Corps. We’d tell potential recruits to join us so that they could contribute to the effort to tame the galactic frontier. Adventure -- excitement -- where no human of the Rim ventured before. We’d first bring recruits to this harmless little outpost in the Unknown Regions to start their education. It’s the truth, but only one piece of it.”

She went on: “Garrison Y3-418’s original purpose became obsolete in recent years. Its key role now -- the Frontier Trials-- is largely due to revitalization on my part and my predecessor before me. Yet he was a fool, for he couldn’t prevent a meddling spy from the self-declared ‘Resistance’ sneaking around.”

If I have the chance, Finn thought, I’m buying Commander Doza a drink the next time I see her.

Nasz dipped her head. “Your Frontier Trials are clever, Commander. They’re designed to determine true warriors, beyond the limitations of the stormtrooper program.” 

Finn flinched. Nasz subtly kicked his foot with a sweep of her boot. 

“Ah, yes,” Malarus said. “The late Brendol Hux had interesting methods, didn’t he? We both come from the same school of thought. The desire to make the perfect human, the perfect soldier.”

She steepled her fingers and gazed at the sea, lost in contemplation, before speaking again. “Where he went wrong was his hyperfocus on the extremely young -- the infants, the toddlers. Even if they’re easy to mould, I don’t quite think they have the innate thirst for it -- the hunger -- that drives our willing recruits to sign up. The conscripted ones don’t have the passion or the cunning to be elite. They’re merely warm obedient bodies for the frontlines.” 

Finn could feel something stirring underneath his skin. The waves and the winds of Rakata Prime were roaring, roaring. Or was that his jackhammering pulse at his wrists and his neck and his heart---

Nasz kicked him again, but more gently. 

“I take it you were one of the willing,” Nasz said to Malarus. She showed her teeth like a tooka. “I was, too. I know precisely what you mean when you speak of hunger.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note to say that I largely decided to base Brendol Hux's characterization on how he's written in The Secret Academy, with bits of him from Phasma sprinkled in. (Instead of the Aftermath Trilogy and Hux's Age of Resistance issue.)
> 
> That cadet choosing to do the assault on the Mako-Ta Space Docks for his exam is like shooting a fish in a barrel, lol.

“These children can topple nations.” 

The declaration came from a large man in black. FN-2187 had walked up to Captain Cardinal’s office -- he had wanted to ask his instructor questions about the latest lesson -- but there was a visitor. He lingered outside the open door. 

The man in black was someone who FN-2187 had never seen before. He had graying red hair, a bulbous face, and more than his uniform, it was his ramrod straight posture that indicated that he was an officer. He sat across Cardinal’s desk, swirling a glass of red wine in hand; Cardinal himself was unhelmeted, his blue-black hair neatly combed and smooth, his dark eyes deep and deferential. 

The officer went on: “These children can dethrone tyrants -- these children can beat the wildest uncivilized savages into submission -- these children can march and march to worlds beyond and claim it for order, claim it for us.”

“Indeed, sir,” Cardinal said, dipping his head. “Our recent batches are shaping up quite nicely.”

“I knew I could entrust the training program to you,” the officer said, proudly. “You’ve exceeded my expectations. One of Rax’s scraggly teens all grown up, eh?” 

“I owe it to your guidance, General.” Cardinal paused. “Yet there is something that troubles me. Not a flaw in the system, of course not--”

“I should hope not,” the officer said, his tone suddenly icy. 

“No, there’s nothing wrong with the system,” Cardinal assured him. “It’s merely the method of -- determining officers. Selecting the smartest. Separating the boots on the ground from the command on the bridge.” 

“Ah, I see,” the general said. He took a swig of his wine. “You’re worried that the last round of modifications I suggested are too harsh.”

“All our soldiers are intended for harshness,” Cardinal said. It was the right answer; the general nodded. “No, sir, it’s that I remembered one of the key stratagems.”

And Cardinal recited it out loud: “ _A weak army is plied by credits, gods, and fear. Destroy their leader to take the frontier. But beware the strong who obey out of pure faith -- for they will take vengeance and then it’s too late._ ”

FN-2187 found himself mouthing along with Cardinal. It was one of the many First Order sayings that played during the night while the cadets slept, whispers of strategies and tactics and order. FN-2187 knew them all by heart -- not only because the cadets were required to memorize and understand them, but because he knew that he needed the strategies to survive. 

Why had Cardinal mentioned this aphorism to the visitor? 

The general seemed to be wondering that as well. “Is that not what we do? We teach our cadets the value of the First Order and our cause. Our legions are the strong, not the weak.” 

“But the approach you suggested requires a heavy hand,” Cardinal said. “You wish me to push the potential leaders. To treat them as more important than the cadets who don’t score as highly, who don’t learn as quickly -- to encourage them to be separate and above -- to _isolate_ them.”

FN-2187 stiffened. Wasn’t that--?

Cardinal continued, “I’m starting to see the effects, General. These are the boys and girls who aren’t given nicknames by their peers. They haven’t integrated. One would think that’s the very definition of ruling by fear, not loyalty.” 

“Nonsense,” scoffed the general. “We’re pushing them to reach their full potential. My dear captain -- we’re on an accelerated schedule. We _need_ officers, not fodder, and if this is the best way to get them, then that’s what we’ll do. If you ask me, the strongest are the ones who will persevere past their breaking point. They’ll thrive in hardship and solitude, and if they fail, well --” He shrugged and waved a dismissive hand. “Then they’re not officer material.”

“I don’t want to break these children.”

“Were you not broken before we found you, CD-0922?” the general shot back. “Fatherless, motherless, starving, living on a poverty-ridden desert planet that the so-called New Republic neglects. Meanwhile, many of our current little ones were practically born into our Order. They don’t remember the galaxy outside. They don’t know what it’s like to be hungry and helpless. The First Order found you broken and remade you, red-armored and loyal and _cardinal_ , and I know you’ll remain one of my faithful to the end. Or are you wavering -- are you doubting?” 

“ _I shall never doubt you,”_ Cardinal said, fervent and ferocious. FN-2187 muffled an exhale of surprise, because he had never seen Cardinal this emotional before. “I apologize for being… outspoken… but General -- General Hux -- I care about my students.”

“I know that you care,” Hux said, quietly. “And this is what caring means in the First Order. I need you to break our best and our brightest, like Jakku broke you. I need them to burn out like a dying supernova, and I need you to take the energy, the heat, the filaments, and forge them anew -- then, finally, I can clad them in officer black and put them at the helms of our Star Destroyers. Do this, and our army will be the greatest in the galaxy.” 

Cardinal’s hands trembled on top of his desk. It was almost as if he would fall to his knees if he could. A heartbeat, then another, his eyes bright: “I will. I’ll give you your army.”

FN-2187 could only stare. That giant in black was General Brendol Hux. Cardinal frequently praised him, the mastermind behind all the lessons they learned every day. 

_These children can topple nations,_ Hux said.

FN-2187 looked down at his hands. His hands were already proficient in handling a blaster and wielding melee weapons. He knew that he was good at beating simulations and studying and sparring -- he knew that Cardinal and even the other cadets were treating him differently, now more than ever -- he knew that no one called him by a nickname.

He wondered if he was one of those stars that Brendol Hux had spoken of. He wondered if it was wrong to feel so scared that he could hardly breathe from the terror of it. 

* * *

Outside the garrison, a girl in a First Order cadet uniform stood on the edge of the platform. She was short and had a wiry frame. Her feathery white-blond hair was twined in careful layers, twin braids looped around and around.

Her hair, Yama thought, wasn’t First Order regulation, but it looked nice. Apparently Malarus wasn’t as much of a stickler for rules as Winshur Bratt, at least not for new recruits. 

The girl was standing in the shadow of a red-blossomed tree that overlooked the ocean. As the seafaring breeze blew the leaves off the branches, spare wisps of her hair fluttered and rippled. She didn’t brush it back, only watched and watched. For as the leaves touched blue, they bled swirling red, but then the sea swept up, and they were lost underneath the tide of it.

And then it was blue once again. 

“It’s a shin’yah tree,” the girl said, her voice almost lost to the wind. “I heard that the architect who designed this garrison was from Vardos, and he had it transplanted here. My great-grandmother was from Vardos, too.”

Yama nodded. “It's pretty. You’re one of the other new recruits doing the tests, right? I just arrived here. I’m Yaga Dente.” 

It was Yama’s first undercover mission, but she said the name easily, letting it roll off her tongue like it was her own. She had the mission details memorized down to the very last comma, and she was determined to get this right. 

Sometimes it felt like there was too much in her head. Especially now that she was in the Resistance, sifting through information about the war from every corner of the galaxy.

The First Order buried its horrors. The rebels unearthed them and mourned them, the numbers etched in Yama’s brain like indelible scars. 

_How do you handle it?_ she had asked Vi Moradi, before the spy had left for Batuu. _All of this noise. All of these terrible things._

Vi had said: _I just do. It’s like knitting. Every piece of information is one loop, one stitch, one part of the tapestry. You gotta compartmentalize, kid, and figure out what you need to focus on in the moment._

“My name’s Meva Tanzer,” the girl replied, jolting Yama from her thoughts. “Nice to meet you. I can introduce you to the others. They’re over there, in the cadet barracks.” 

“That’d be cool, Meva,” Yama said. “Hang on for a second-- I came with another recruit and he’s busy at the moment. We can go together when he’s done.”

Pacer was currently helping Karr Ravel and RZ-7 unload the ‘cargo’ from the TIE -- which was in actuality crates full of useless duracrete bricks with some ration packs piled on top. The Resistance wasn’t going to give the First Order anything resembling functional supplies. 

As they waited, Yama asked Meva about herself. Like Yama, Meva was fifteen standard years old. She was nervous for the tests, but she wanted to prove herself.

 _I used to be you_ , Yama thought. _I used to be you, but I’m not any longer, and I’m all the better for it and all the braver for it._

* * *

Finn had never seen a non-human in the First Order. Like the Imperial military that preceded it, there remained an ingrained prejudice against non-human races, even though it was largely unspoken.

Rey, Rose, and Poe had told him about the First Order scientist that they had encountered on Minfar: Glenna Kip. But she sounded more of an exception than anything, and in the end, she _had_ been scheming against the Order.

Non-humans were shunned and dismissed. They were populations to be subjugated, slaves to be sentenced to toil, subordinate tools when it was convenient. Ultimately, _lesser._

Therefore, it was a small shock to see a young Mirialan woman in a First Order Security Bureau uniform in the garrison’s officer lounge. She was green-skinned, blue-eyed. A spatter of looping tattoos criss-crossed her forehead like constellations. 

Following Finn's gaze, Malarus said, with undisguised disdain in her voice, “Agent Raynshi. She runs security here and maintains operations at the comm tower. If you ask me, the First Order has no place for her kind, but she has _connections._ ” She resumed her conversation with Nasz -- more boasting about the Frontier Trials while Nasz coolly responded -- and Finn decided to sit next to the agent.

Being friendly with Raynshi had dual purposes: gathering intel to break into the comm tower as well as annoying Malarus.

“Afternoon,” Finn said. “I’m Lieutenant Kade. I’m dropping off two cadets for the trials. You’re Agent Raynshi, right? Commander Malarus mentioned you.” 

She peered up from the datapad she was perusing. “That’s me. I’m sure that Malarus had _wonderful_ things to say about me.” 

“I don’t think you’ll ever catch her talking up something that isn’t her or her work,” Finn said wryly.

“Perfection, perfection,” Raynshi enunciated, parroting Malarus’ grandiose tone.

“Spot-on.” 

“You’ve caught her in one of her better moods. You don’t want to cross paths with her when she’s crying blood.” 

“Is that a metaphor?”

Raynshi mimed a stabbing motion toward her left eye. “Nope. She injects some kind of drug into herself. Insists that it improves her strength, mindpower, health. It makes her pretty unhinged.”

“Better off wounded than dead. Cut off the limbs of a Rathtar to preserve its head,” Finn quoted. “Or in this case, eye. I didn’t think that was supposed to be taken at face value.” It was one of the First Order stratagems that he had learned as a cadet.

Raynshi blinked and her face lit up in recognition. “You’re one of Cardinal’s.”

Finn hesitated, before saying, “I was.” 

“Red Cap was an old acquaintance of my father’s. He showed me some training sims while I was interning for the FOSB. Smart guy -- it was a shame to hear about his death.” There was a grim tightness in her expression.

“I-- yeah. A shame.” 

Cardinal had died? Finn had assumed that Cardinal was still out there somewhere, still training cadets for the First Order. Then again, there had always been an underlying friction between him and Phasma and Hux the younger. Or maybe he had run into Kylo Ren when he was having one of his tantrums. Finn hadn’t paid close attention to the internal politics of the squabbling First Order hierarchy.

Or perhaps the captain had fallen afoul of one of the Resistance’s attacks. No, the _Absolution_ was still active and intact, as far as they knew, unless Cardinal had been transferred elsewhere-- 

He didn’t want to think of Cardinal. It always unbalanced him, the memories of Cardinal’s kindly smiles and murmured compliments. Gentle hands that adjusted the helmet on his head, knuckles rapping against the metal to make sure that it stayed snug. Muttered curses that Cardinal couldn’t bite back whenever he was flustered or frustrated, prompting Iris to chide him in binary warbles -- later, Finn heard Rey grumble the same swearwords, further confirmation that two of the most important yet disparate people in his life were once children of the same searing desert planet.

It was easier to think of Phasma, his training instructor of his later years, cold and unfeeling and chromium. It was easier to think of Armitage Hux, snarling, the mad murderer of the Hosnian system-- or Kylo Ren cutting him down in the snowfall.

(Was this how Leia felt about Ben Solo? Or was this how Kylo Ren had felt when he confronted his father for that one last fatal time? No, he told himself. This was different.)

Finn changed the subject. “Your father serves in the First Order like you, Raynshi?” 

More of that grimness. Raynshi touched the tattoo on her forehead, her hand swiping against it before falling back down. “He did, but he passed away. Just a couple of months ago.”

“Sorry to hear about that,” Finn said, awkwardly. “So you’re following in his footsteps.”

She inclined her head. “I can’t be as much a bigshot as he was, unfortunately. Upstairs put me on this remote marble of a planet because I’m as green-skinned as a paddy frog. But I’ll prove myself and get off this waterhole one day. I’ll become the best spymaster in the galaxy.” 

“He’d be proud,” Finn offered. He wasn’t sure what made him say it, but it felt the right thing to say. He _was_ undercover. 

Raynshi beamed, a flush of pink on her green cheeks. “Thanks, Lieutenant. I bet Captain Cardinal would’ve been proud of you, too.” 

* * *

That was how Finn scored himself a tour of the comm tower. He expressed interest in Raynshi’s duties -- “I almost got put on the FOSB track myself, but Cardinal thought the officer life suited me better”-- “It was the opposite for me! My dad felt I should be ambitious and aim for Star Destroyer command, but I refused. Besides, Agent Tierny -- one of his co-workers at the time -- took a shine to me and took me under her wing.” 

Raynshi showed him around. The comm tower had three levels: the maintenance floor, the office floor, and the control floor.

Finn’s team needed to get to the last floor to download the First Order Security Bureau’s archived data. As he and Raynshi approached the control room, Finn covertly pulled out his modified holotransmitter and recorded the agent keying in her code, her datapad in hand. 

_Gotcha._

He almost felt bad. Raynshi wasn’t General Hux or Captain Phasma. She was a cog in the First Order’s machine whose job was to keep the mouse droids running and ensure that data had been received and catalogued correctly. But there was a war on, and she was on the other side.

Once the tour concluded, Finn made excuses about needing a rest after the long flight. He swept the guest officer quarters for bugs -- clean -- and, sitting on the sleep-couch, he commed the others in an encrypted audio call. 

“What’s your status, team?”

Yama, her voice hushed. “We met the other cadets. There’s just three of them. Meva Tanzer, Roben Pell, and Fernus Baxley.”

Pacer drawled, “I could take ‘em. _Kids._ ”

Finn rolled his eyes. “You’re not actually here for the trials. Anyway -- I was able to get my hands on the code for the comm tower control room. We’re breaking in tonight after the first trial. Then we high-tail it outta here.” 

“The first trial is the easiest.” That was Nasz. “Malarus said it was a strategy sim. A holo-display battle reenactment. Candidates choose the historical conflict they wish to re-enact, and they pass or fail based on the actions they take.” 

“I’ve done those before,” Finn said. “You execute virtual offensive and defensive formations -- search patterns -- landmine locations -- and hope that you end the battle with a high enough kill count. I can talk you through it, if you need help.” Rose had provided them with tiny pinhole communication devices they could stick behind their ears and use as a backup comlink. 

“Isn’t that cheating?”

“Again, not here for the trials.”

Pacer said: “It’s probably better that we win this one, though. That crazy one-eye commander has a reputation. Recruits who fail the tests don’t come back. They don’t go home. They don’t get sent to another program. They’re just gone. At least, that’s what Baxley said, even if he _is_ a First Order bootlicker.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Does Malarus toss them into the ocean?”

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” Nasz said. “Here’s an order to you both. _Win._ ” 

“Order received,” Yama said, sober, while Pacer exclaimed: “Don’t doubt it!” 

It would certainly complicate the mission if they had to worry about fishing Yama and Pacer from the bottom of the sea. Finn’s thumb scratched at the edge of his comlink, a skittish movement that he swiftly stilled. “You heard Lieutenant Nasz. That’s an order from me, too. How about you, Ravel? Anything on your front?” 

“Arzee and I mapped out the best routes for sneaking around. Security droids patrol the outpost and they’ll be on high alert at nighttime, but they work in routine sweeps. As long as we have the timing down, we can avoid them. I’m sending you the information… now.” 

Finn withdrew a datapad from his satchel; it wasn’t his usual one, but a First Order model. “Got it.” He made a resolution. “Yama, Pacer, you’re not coming with us to the comm tower. Get to the _Nightshrike_ and wait for us there.” 

Yama started: “Commander--” 

“We need you two to have the ship ready for take-off,” Finn said. “And, yeah -- in the event that Nasz and Ravel and I run into trouble and we can’t make it, you’re allowed to run.” 

“That’s not how a team is supposed to work,” Pacer said.

“That’s the worst case scenario,” Finn told him. “I’m not banking on losing, either, but it’s always good to have a plan to get out as many of your people as possible. You’re rebels under my command. I’m responsible for you.” 

“How touching,” Nasz murmured. “Nevertheless, it seems like all the pieces are in place. This might go smoothly after all.” She sounded disappointed. 

“Nasz. Don’t tell me you’re upset because you don’t get to garrote anyone.” 

“Oh, old man Antilles told you about Corellia? That was nothing.” 

“I thought you were awesome on Corellia,” Yama said, loyally. “You beat up my son-of-a-sleemo First Order boss.” 

“Now do Malarus next,” Pacer said.

Finn found himself silently agreeing with the sentiment. He shook his head. “Study for your test, cadets. I’ll see you in the sim room.”

* * *

“My credits are on Tanzer winning the trials.” 

Agent Raynshi joined Finn and Nasz. They were standing on the observation deck, a room that was enclosed by a transparisteel pane and overlooked the sim room. 

“You think?” Finn asked.

All the First Order cadets, plus Pacer and Yama, sat in desks that projected holo-displays. Malarus paced up and down between the desks -- her single dark eye beady as she watched them.

Meva Tanzer, smaller than rest, almost seemed to disappear in her barrage of multicolored glowing screens.

“I’ve learned to look beyond appearances,” Raynshi said, confidently. “At any rate, this is still the first trial.”

The first cadet who finished was a dark-haired boy with an athletic build. He stood up from the desk, rolled his shoulders, his mouth a narrow line. Malarus gave him a slight nod, and he grinned and ambled away.

The second cadet who finished was a reedy boy whose hair seemed to be coated in copious amounts of hair gel -- and then, immediately after, Yama. Finn heaved a sigh of relief. Good. Hopefully she did well.

The achievement didn’t occur drama-free, however. 

Loudly, the cadet cried, “Dente, you cheated!” 

“Did I?” 

“You picked the same battle as I did. You did what I did-- which should be impossible, because I--”

“Because you’re using a program that makes most of the decisions for you,” Yama said. “I saw you put in a datacard, Baxley. _You_ cheated.” Her voice quivered, but she met the boy’s accusing gaze.

Baxley’s face was white with rage. “It should have been too fast for anyone to follow. It’s set to an accelerated speed."

“I'm fast enough,” Yama said. “Besides, I made some changes along the way. I did what you did -- no, what your fancy program did -- but I did it _better_. You didn’t use your ARC-170s to their full capabilities, and you took too much damage from the enemy’s turbolasers.” 

From the observation deck, Nasz hummed in approval. 

Holy kark, Finn thought. Facing off against Yama probably felt like playing holochess against Vi Moradi. And you didn’t want to play holochess against Vi Moradi, not unless you wanted to lose badly. 

Judging from the reaction on Malarus’ face, she was also impressed by Yama’s initiative while irritated by Baxley’s whining. Thank the stars that she was the type of person who favored someone who cheated smartly over someone who cheated clumsily.

She broke up their argument and dismissed them both from the sim room, leaving only Tanzer and Pacer. 

Come on, Finn thought. You can do it, Pacer. 

The comlink behind his ear pulsed. Finn started. “Uh - Raynshi, Tezuna, there’s something I need to check on. I’ll be back.” 

He darted out into the hallway. “Don’t tell me you’re stuck, Agoyo.” 

“I’m doing the Battle of Kuat,” Pacer said, in a low undertone. 

“You picked a battle that the Empire lost, even though you’re controlling Imperial ships and weaponry?” Finn said flatly.

The first cadet had re-enacted the assault on the Mako-Ta Space Docks. The second cadet -- and by extension, Yama -- had chosen a skirmish during the Salient campaign. As far as Finn could tell, it wasn’t against the rules to choose a battle the Galactic Empire had lost, but since the point of the sim was to come out of it with the most points, you had an advantage if you played out a battle that actually ended in Imperial victory. 

“I know, I know!” Pacer retorted. “You can chew me out later. Just give me a hand.” 

Finn clenched his fists. Quietly, he said, “Pacer, I’m not the strongest with aerial tactics. I’m not a pilot. My background is in ground warfare. You should’ve commed Nasz.” 

Pacer didn’t even bother to reply to that. Yeah, he wouldn’t ask Nasz for help. He was too proud and too stubborn, and he still hated her. 

This kriffing team, Finn thought.

Finn said, “I’m not a pilot. But _you_ are. You can win this. I don’t think you need me or Nasz or anyone else to coach you.” 

“But--” Pacer let out a shuddering breath. “Is it true? What you did during the Siege of Orish?” 

That again. “Depends what you heard. But, yeah, that was me.”

“Dex said that you were pretty scary.” 

“Sometimes you have to be scary.” 

Finn heard a smile in Pacer’s voice. “Copy that. You’re right, Commander. I am a pilot. But I’m not only a pilot. I’m a scavenger, too, and I’ll work with whatever I’ve got. And what I’ve got includes the Kuat Drive Yards of those evil Imperial bastards.” 

The comlink clicked off.

Finn returned to the observation deck, and below, he saw Pacer’s fingers dart, tracing grids and targeting settings. After several minutes, the young pilot sprang from his seat, pumping his fist in triumph. 

* * *

The First Order garrison at night almost appeared peaceful. It was a motionless mass, impassive, stolid, as waves rushed at its boundaries and the two moons hung in the sky.

They embarked in the darkness: Finn, Teza Nasz, RZ-7 and Karr Ravel. As they walked, there was a persistent noise like a _clink, clank_ \--

“Is that your droid?” 

Ravel snorted. “No, it’s her.” 

Nasz had her vibro-ax slung across her back. Its scabbard collided with her vibro-knives at her belt with every step she took. Nonchalantly, Nasz shifted the knives’ position. 

“Still itching for action,” Finn remarked.

“Always.” 

They ducked to avoid a security droid, hunkering down behind a bulwark. Once it rattled by, they crept out and continued walking. 

Ravel said, out of the blue, “Commander, what you said earlier about this team being your responsibility… I need you to know that you’re not responsible for me. Agoyo wasn’t wrong. I’m not a real rebel like the rest of you.” 

Finn frowned. “Leia made you my responsibility. Besides, you’re on our side and you’re helping us.” 

“I always thought I was destined to tell stories instead of becoming a part of them,” Ravel murmured. “But the stories have a way of catching up to you.” 

Ravel’s droid curled his spidery silver fingers on his shoulders. “Stop being dramatic. This isn’t a complete stranger. This is someone who cares about you. Oftentimes, the majority of complicated situations can be solved by talking.” 

“I will!” Ravel said. “After this. By myself.” 

Clearly, there was something big about this mission that Ravel hadn’t shared with them. “Ravel, come on--” 

“Remember what I said. I’m not your responsibility.” Spinning on his heels, Ravel halted at the foot of the comm tower. The door opened. It would’ve been a great dramatic exit, except they had to ride the turbolift together. 

The turbolift music was deafening. 

Nasz said, plainly, “You’re a strange one, Ravel.” 

“I’m the strange one?” Ravel repeated, incredulous. “They called you the Bloodwolf of Nag Ubdur. You laughed when you slit their throats and blasted out their brains. You burned down their marketplaces, their holy sites, and their homes. You said you wanted to take their screams and make a _song_ out of them.” 

Nasz narrowed her eyes. “It’d make more exciting music than this boring jizz music. That was a long time ago.” 

RZ-7 intoned, “My databanks contain a variety of music ranging from Aridinian folk music to Zabraki fanfares. I could play a piece.” 

“Herglic rage-metal,” Ravel said. 

Nasz adjusted the sheathed vibro-knives hanging on her belt, jangling again, and Ravel’s eyes widened.

For not the first time, Finn thought: _This kriffing team._ He cleared his throat as the turbolift stopped at the third level. “We’re here. Let’s get the data.” 

“I’ll handle this.” Ravel bent over the keypad next to the control room’s door. 

Finn used the moment to comm Pacer and Yama. “Have you made it to the garrison’s hangar?”

Yama answered on the other end. “Affirmative. We’re in the _Nightshrike_ now. We haven’t powered up the engines yet.” 

“Glad to hear it. I’ll tell you when we’re on our way.” 

Ravel abruptly drew back from the keypad, his face pale, his gloved hands pulling at each other. “By the Force. This isn’t going to work. The password changes every couple of hours as a security contingency. The updated code is sent to the First Order Security Bureau agent-in-charge’s datapad.”

“Well, there’s another way we can get that open,” Nasz said, reaching for the vibro-ax on her back.

“ _No!_ ” Ravel yelped, loud and forceful. He blocked the door, even as she towered over him. “Nasz, if you do that, the entire outpost will go on the defensive. The security droids will attack-- Malarus and M--Raynshi and the stormtroopers will be alerted--and the hangar will convert to full lockdown mode. Not just the doors shut, but the ships’ access codes would be completely revoked. Agoyo and Yama won’t be able to fly the _Nightshrike_ , and you’ve all lost your escape route.” 

No, no, _no._

“You sure?” Finn asked.

Ravel nodded miserably. Of course this wasn’t going to be so easy. Finn shouldn’t have expected otherwise.

“Alright,” Finn said, heaving a sigh. He took out his comlink. “Change of plans. Pacer, Yama, go back to the cadet barracks.”

“What?!” 

“There’s been a setback. You’re going to have to do another trial tomorrow while we figure out a way to steal the code from Raynshi.” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In many ways, I feel like this fic is a gratuitous excuse to write characters making a bunch of badass boasts because they're ~~cool~~. I think that's what happens when your formative influences are shounen manga.

“Not only was he my father, he was a leader to us all. The general brought his vision of discipline and education from the Empire to the First Order. Standing before me today, you all are the finest examples of his work…”

Armitage Hux droned on. FN-2187 stifled a yawn from beneath his helmet, relieved that it hid the gesture. From beside him, he saw that he wasn’t the only restless one -- Slip was slumping over, and Zeroes elbowed him, making him stumble -- while Pixel had her datapad tucked underneath her arm, probably itching to play Blaster Fighter III.

Captain Cardinal was with the other officers, a patch of stark red plastoid and sweeping armor weave cape. FN-2187 wondered what Cardinal was thinking -- it had been several years since he had witnessed that conversation between his instructor and Brendol Hux -- and he could tell that the general was a pivotal figure in Cardinal’s life. Like Cardinal was FN-2187’s teacher, Brendol Hux had been his, and now he was dead…

When the ceremony was over, the cadets lingered in the hallway, buckets tucked underneath their arms. Most of them were hoping to catch a glimpse of Captain Phasma, whose image was plastered on many of the First Order posters -- their future instructor once they graduated from Cardinal’s program. 

Pixel let out a sigh. “That took forever. I wouldn’t want to catch whatever that guy did, that’s for sure.”

FN-2187 wrinkled his brow. “Didn’t he die of an unidentified illness? He seemed pretty old.” 

Pixel’s eyes took on the shifty expression of hers that meant that she had been slicing the First Order’s intranet again. FN-2187 said, “Pix…” 

“I was bored! I was in the medbay after yesterday’s sparring session, remember? The _Finalizer_ medical team sent some data to cross-check it with our med droid archives, though they still couldn’t pinpoint the disease.” Pixel told him -- it was a gruesome death, Brendol Hux melting in a bacta tank leaving nothing but shriveled organs, slivers of bone, and graying red hair.

“That sounds right out of a comic,” FN-2187 said. “Like a vaporization weapon that a villain uses to take over a town.” 

There was a small gasp. There was another cadet listening -- a young girl with light brown skin, perhaps around eight or nine standard years old compared to their sixteen. “That’s an ugly way to die,” she murmured, her dark eyes flickering.

Pixel frowned. “You’re not going to be a tattletale about me peeking, are you? Because I can get my hands on any pirated media on the HoloNet.”

The girl laughed. “I know. You’re FN-1971. You shared the datafile for Panic at the Cantina’s latest album with my squadmate Aces.” Pointing at FN-2187 --“You’re FN-2187. Cardinal said you set one of the highest scores on the Endor sim when you were my age.” 

“And who are you?” he said. “I thought I set the record.” 

“UV-8855,” she said. “And I beat your score this morning.”

* * *

For as long as Fernus Baxley could remember, he dreamed of serving the Empire.

He hailed from Arkanis, and the Empire’s presence was everywhere. It was in the austere durasteel architecture--it was in the infrastructure of their dwellings and droids and transportation--it was in the stories that his grandfather told him. 

Fernus’ grandfather used to run one of the major ports, conducting business with the occupying forces and visiting fleets. He spoke of prosperity and friendship, rubbing elbows with big names like Commandant Hux and Grand Moff Randd. 

The Empire, however, had left. But it wasn’t gone.

Once, Seprius Baxley had taken Fernus to a ball, a dignified elderly man introducing a small sandy-haired boy, boasting: “This grandson of mine dreams big. You should’ve heard him the other day. He wishes he could fly TIEs or command armies.” 

There was a woman, a woman in a beautiful scarlet dress, her hair long and golden, her fingers and her hair dripping in shining jewels. She had touched Fernus on the shoulder. “What an ambitious boy. Children like you are the future of our galaxy. The day will come -- your dream will come -- and we will be proud to call you a son of Arkanis.” 

A year later, it was _her_ \-- Lady Carise Sindian on the holo-newsfeed -- declaring: “Arkanis is no longer the New Republic’s. We are free of the restricting chains of incompetence and inaction. We belong to order.” 

Arkanis belonged to order, and thus, so did Fernus.

Six years later, the New Republic fell, the Hosnian system bursting like an overripe kakadu fruit. For some, that would’ve been deterrence. For Fernus, it only hardened his resolve, awed at this First Order and its might. He resolved to serve in its ranks, to become the best of the best-- for this was the dream of the small sandy-haired boy sitting at his grandfather’s feet, listening to tales of the past as the storms of Arkanis thundered on.

… He had failed. 

Fernus Baxley had failed, and he was crying.

Hours after the first trial, Commander Malarus had dragged him into a laboratory. She had bound him in binders and plugged him into a machine of coiled wires and cords, as if he was a droid to be taken apart, and all he could do was sob.

“I don’t tolerate weakness,” she said, contemptuous. “But you’ll make a decent test subject.” 

“W-what are you doing to me?” 

“It’s tricky technology, reprogramming,” Malarus said. “The First Order doesn’t use it often, because of its tendency to fail. The human brain can be a stubborn thing, and we’d rather have all-natural soldiers than artificial ones. Though in this case, I’m doing you a favor, boy, and you better pray to the stars that this works.” 

“Are you-- are you wiping my memories so I could go home? Or to another training program?” As he said it, he knew it wasn’t true. He knew the rumors. The trials of Rakata Prime were dangerous, deadly.

She saw the fear on his face and seemed to delight in it. “Of course you’re not going _home._ Your memories will go, but that’s more of a side-effect than anything. I’m making some adjustments in your head. Dialing down pain synapses, tweaking some nerves here and there-- there’s a new formula I want to try, and I need to know its effects on the human body. It’s much easier to work when your subjects are compliant, not struggling or screaming. Besides, we have guests, and it would be impolite to wake them up with your blubbering.” 

“You’ve been doing this to all the cadets who failed,” Fernus said, in realization. “And they died after being injected with… whatever drugs you’re injecting.” 

Malarus shrugged. “Or I culled them off myself if the drugs damaged them or didn’t work out the way I wanted. It’s a process of trial and error.” 

“You’re mad,” Fernus spat. “You’re _insane._ You’re no better than a spice addict, playing with poison. It’s disgraceful that you wear the commander’s uniform of the First Order.” 

“You’re in no position to speak of disgrace. A child who thought he could qualify for one of the most elite legions in the Order, when you’re nothing but a snivelling brat. This is the one and only way you can serve us, boy… You can become a stepping stone on my path toward true perfection.” 

The machine crackled and hummed. 

Fernus tried to remember: Diplopod-riding lessons on the beach---feeding nerfs out of his hand--his grandfather and his parents and his friends--Lady Carise in vermillion--the rains of Arkanis--the rains of Arkanis--

Then he belonged to oblivion.

* * *

At the sight of the writhing cadet, Finn gasped, falling to his knees and clutching his head in his hands. He felt like his head was about to split open, as if he was a piece of flimsiplast about to be shredded, and he would’ve yelled if it wasn’t for Ravel shoving his gloved hand in Finn’s mouth.

A voice reverberated in his head: _\--Don’t forget--don’t forget--_

“What’s wrong with him?” Nasz hissed. 

“I think it’s some kind of panic attack,” Ravel said. “Kriff -- Malarus is crazy.” 

“Isn’t your droid supposed to know what to do?”

“He’s not really a medical droid. He’s more of a protocol droid who keeps me company.” 

“I’m Karr’s best friend, in fact.” 

“... Son of a trogodile.” 

They had been heading back from the comm tower when they had seen the lights on in the laboratory. Now Finn couldn’t breathe, and he didn’t know why, and Ravel was yanking his glove from Finn’s face and awkwardly patting him on the back. 

Ravel said, “We should help that kid--”

“It’s too late for him.” 

“We can’t let her kill him.” 

“We need to help our commander and keep our cover,” Nasz replied, grim. Finn felt strong arms pry him away from the transparisteel lab window, practically carrying him. “Go back to the pilots’ quarters, Ravel. Comm Agoyo and Yama and warn them what will happen if they fail tomorrow’s trial. Because losing is entirely out of the question, unless they wish to end up like _that_.” 

* * *

When Finn came back to himself, he was lying on a sleep-couch, a blanket thrown over him. Nasz sat at the bedside, watching him with her dark eyes, her red hair glinting in the moonlight that shone through the window. 

Nasz spoke first. “I thought Ravel was the one with the medical condition.” 

“I don’t know where that came from,” Finn admitted. His forehead was throbbing, and he felt dazed, light-headed, his breath shallow. “I think this was different from Ravel’s thing.” 

“Just don’t do it again.” 

“I’ll try not to.” He reached for his satchel, rustling, as he went through its contents--where was--? 

Nasz handed him his canteen. “Here. It was half-empty.” 

He drank, gulping down the water gratefully. After he finished, he said, “Thank you. Look -- this complicates things a lot. Whatever happens, you have to make sure that Yama and Pacer get out of this safe and alive.”

“Babysitting duty?” 

“You know what I mean, Nasz,” Finn said. “That’s your main task tomorrow. Ravel and I will deal with Raynshi and Malarus -- you keep an eye on those two. They’re tough, smart kids, but we should’ve been heading back to base by now. The way things are dragging out, they could get seriously hurt.”

“They don’t need hand-holding,” Nasz said, skeptically. “Yama’s grown up quite a lot since the first time I saw her on Corellia. And Agoyo is… Agoyo. They’re not ordinary kids.” 

Finn let out a weary sigh. “Yeah, that’s the problem, isn’t it? Not ordinary kids, but rebels, and we’re putting them right in Malarus’ line of fire.”

At times, he wondered what the pfassk Leia was even thinking, but other times, he saw what she must have seen. He thought of Yama and Pacer holding their own during the first trial, unstoppable and assured in their own different ways. 

Nasz asked: “Why are you asking me to protect them?”

That was an easy answer. “Because you’re the strongest person on this team.”

“Ah… the ‘Bloodwolf of Nag Ubdur,’ as Ravel informed me. I hardly remember that. I’ve been called by many names. Still, high praise from the man who ended the Siege of Orish.” 

“Don’t,” Finn groaned. “Don’t remind me. That was stressful, and I don’t want to pull a stunt like that ever again.”

“Don’t disclaim it. Wear your victories with pride.” 

“Maybe not that one. The things I said… I’m not proud.” 

She fixed him a piercing gaze. “Commander, you and I are not two sides of the same coin. You weren’t a brutal killer who left corpses of civilians in your wake. You weren’t a trained anooba, a subservient gundark, that jumped at the instruction of your masters. You bit their hands and you left. That is why General Organa put you, not me, in charge of this team. I was that killer -- I _am_ that killer -- and you are not.” 

Finn said, “I could’ve been.” 

“Perhaps,” she said. “But I know a soft-heart when I see one.” Nasz stood up. “I’m returning to my own quarters. No need for any of this to get back to Dameron later.” 

“What…?” 

* * *

“We’re helping the other cadets, too, aren’t we?”

It was probably a naive thing to say, but Yama felt like someone had to say it. The two other remaining participants -- Meva Tanzer and Roben Pell -- might be dedicated to the First Order, but they didn’t deserve to get mind-whammied and lethally experimented on by Malarus. Yama knew what it was like to be yanked around by a First Order superior officer.

On cue, Pacer made a face. “They’re not our mission objective, Dex. We’re here to get the data.” 

“We’re the Resistance. We’re the good guys. We don’t leave kids behind to die.” Yama directed a pointed look at Teza Nasz, who looked startled, but gave her a minute nod.

Pacer didn’t budge. “It’s not like they didn’t know there were going to be consequences. There are more _normal_ ways to join the First Order. They made their choice to do these tests.” 

Nasz said, “We’ll see what we can do. For now, concentrate on your own survival. The next trial is a treasure hunt, of a sort, on a nearby island. How serviceable are your pathfinding abilities?” 

“Nonexistent,” Yama said, truthfully. She knew what it was like to ride Coronet City’s maglev -- to navigate bustling streets and plazas -- to sift through voluminous amounts of data and figure out what was important -- but fieldwork, especially fieldwork in the wilderness, wasn’t her forte.

“Good enough,” Pacer said. “And if you’re trying to act as our teacher, or whatever this is -- thanks, but no thanks.” 

They were in one of the training rooms at the garrison. From the walls, First Order weapons and equipment were displayed in full prominence: blaster rifles, riot control batons, shock staffs, resonator maces, armor, tactical gear. 

Nasz looked down at Pacer. She was _really_ tall. Yama idly pondered if she’d ever grow that tall one day. “This isn’t a primary school lesson. This is preparation.” 

“I can help prepare with strategizing stuff,” Yama pitched in, before Pacer could say anything further. “Roben Pell is tough and strong. He’s Pamarthen, and if we’re going to be sent to an island, he has an advantage since he’s used to similar terrain.”

“And the girl?”

Yama took a second to consider Nasz’s query. “Meva’s smart. For the sims in the first trial… the best approach was to pick something doable. A historical conflict where you could excel and do clever things. Preferably a battle that the Empire won--”

“I won mine, didn’t I?”

“She picked the Battle of Yavin,” Yama said, and that did catch Pacer off-guard. “Whatever she did, Malarus was impressed enough to pass her over Baxley.” 

She swallowed, suddenly regretting her gloating outburst toward Baxley and the method she’d chosen to beat him, resulting in his demise at Malarus’ hands. Yet she knew this was no time to wallow in guilt, because Pacer and Nasz were right. There was the mission and their survival to focus on.

Nasz put her hand underneath her chin. “I see. It would be wise to not underestimate either of them.” 

“So, we’ve gone through the roster of the competition we’re facing,” Pacer said. “What next?” 

“How are your combat abilities?” 

Yama had made a promise to herself that slime like Winshur Bratt would never hurt her ever again. There were plenty of Resistance members who didn’t mind showing her some hand-to-hand and basic weapon training. She smiled. “Decent.” 

“Show me,” Nasz said, taking down a resonator mace from the wall. 

Pacer said, “ _Now_ you’re talking.” 

* * *

It ended with Pacer Agoyo sprawled on the mats, the resonator mace buzzing next to his neck. He stared up at Teza Nasz, his eyes shining brighter than the maces’ sizzling red blade.

Then he grinned -- this boy who had launched himself at her the first time he had seen her, unhesitant and unbalanced -- striking Teza Nasz, strategist and slaughterer, pilot and pariah, fearsome and fearless--

He grinned, and he said, “After this war ends, Nasz, let’s fight for real.” 

She said, “Do you understand what you’re proposing?” 

Teza knew what it meant to issue a challenge. Duels were matters of honor, status, and vengeance. On Rattatak, warriors fought to claw their way to the top. They fought for glory. They fought to avenge fallen comrades, to correct past wrongs, to test their mettle, and say: _I have killed one of the strong, for I am stronger than them._

“I do,” Agoyo said, wiping blood from his mouth. “Like one of your death pits. That’s how we’ll settle the score.”

“Then I accept.” She offered her hand to help him up, and he took it, staggering to his feet and his eyes still burning. 

* * *

From the waters, multicolored fish leapt in the air. Finn wasn’t certain if fish was the right word for them--their fins looked more like wings, as they spun, splashing.

“I don’t know the name for them,” Raynshi said. “They don’t come out very often… I think it has something to do with the weather. They remind me of the pet ventafish I had on CeSai -- I grew up there, a long time ago. Where are you from, Lieutenant?”

Finn kept his expression as neutral as he could. “One of Cardinal’s, remember?”

“Oh, right. But surely you remember something? My mentor Agent Tierny joined when she was a little kid, too. It’s horrible, the stories she told me. She lived on the streets and had to steal food and didn’t even know how to read… but she climbed the ranks. She’s a big deal in the FOSB now.”

Raynshi paused, continued: “Maybe it’s a good thing you don’t remember, so you don’t have awful memories like hers. I can’t even imagine it. I was lucky, having my family… I didn’t have to worry about getting fed or getting an education. Even though I used to be a troublemaker in school.” She let out a soft laugh. 

But that was the worst thing, Finn thought. The not knowing. Had his family loved him? Were they glad that he was gone, one less mouth to feed? Had he been tiny and hungry, and he’d believed the promises of a large smiling man in black? 

All he knew was the First Order. And they had given him three square meals a day. They had taught him how to read and write and shoot a blaster and rattle off the warfare stratagems and mantras that were his nursery rhymes and lullabies.

“You have your family,” Finn said, “and I have the Order.” 

“I have only the Order now,” she said. “But it’s enough.” 

“Raynshi, what happens to the cadets who fail the trials?” Finn said, before he could stop himself. “I didn’t see Baxley at breakfast.” 

Her shoulders seemed to sag in weariness. She looked at the carousing fish once again. “This garrison is Malarus’, Kade. And you should know by now that the First Order has no patience for weakness. We do what we must to maintain our strength and keep functioning. Orderly and ordered, so, eventually, children across the galaxy won’t grow up hungry and abandoned and worlds won’t fall into ruin.”

There was nothing orderly about killing or stealing kids. There was nothing orderly about exploding the Hosnian system -- or bombing Tah’Nuhna, the home of pacifists and scientists who had provided the Resistance temporary refuge -- or oppressing entire populations and exploiting their resources like on Tevel, like in the Hays system.

In classrooms, in sims, in songs, the art of war seemed grand and necessary. And Finn had mastered that art, an eager expert, an assiduous student, and he was _still_ an expert.

Out loud he said, he lied, “Of course. I get it.” 

You had your family, and I had the Order, and I’m going to use whatever’s in my head to finish this mission and get my team out of here alive. 

* * *

The security droids alerted her about the person skulking around the garrison’s buildings. It was the TIE pilot who had accompanied Kade and Tezuna -- Malarus hadn’t had the chance to see him unhelmeted.

She could _smell_ something suspicious. This wouldn’t do at all. The second trial was starting soon, the waterspeeder of cadets about to depart, and she wouldn’t abide interruptions of her work. 

She followed him like a tracking loth-wolf. She found him on the second level of the comm tower. Alone in Agent Raynshi’s office, he stared transfixed at the holos the silly girl had projected around her desk: her late father Agent Vroc Raynshi -- his green Mirialan wife -- and there was a boy with brown hair, tan skin, waving his black gloved hands and smiling a chipped tooth smile.

“Are you a traitor -- a spy?” she snarled, drawing the riot control baton at her hip and activating it. “Who are you?”

And he turned and ignited a blade of glowing green.

“I am Luke Skywalker,” he said, his vocoder voice a rasp. 

What? Luke Skywalker was dead. Supreme Leader Ren had sent out a broadcast, informing his officers of the First Order’s success on Crait, saying there was nothing to fear of the whispers of the mythical absurd Jedi--

The pilot kept going, naming, declaring, “I am Anakin Skywalker. I am Obi-Wan Kenobi and Qui-Gon Jinn and Yoda. I am Mace Windu and Plo Koon and Kit Fisto and Luminara Unduli. I am Ki-Adi-Mundi and Shaak Ti and Jocasta Nu and Kirak Infil’a and Aayla Secura. I am Quinlan Vos and Depa Billaba and Kanan Jarrus and Ezra Bridger and Ahsoka Tano. I am Eno Cordova and Cere Junda and Jaro Tapal and Cal Kestis. I am Hennix, Tai, and Voe. I am the Being of Din Djarin’s clan and the Wanderer of Cerosha.” 

He took off his helmet, the lightsaber illuminating his face, and it was the same young man from Maize Raynshi’s holos. “I am Karr Nuq Sin, great-grandson of the Jedi Naq Med. Historian and storyteller of the Force.” 

“I don’t give two bantha shits what you’re called, rebel rat,” Malarus spat. “Whoever you are, you’re going to die.”

Red clashed into green, and he rose up to meet her. 

* * *

Karr jumped out of the comm tower’s transparisteel window, the fragments raining down as he fell. He landed deftly on his haunches. He could feel the Force flowing through him -- he wasn’t a Jedi, not really, but he was no longer the teenager who had futilely tried to Force choke a bully. He had picked up some things throughout his travels and studies, and when the situation called for it---

“ _Karr!_ ” Maize Raynshi yelled, from where she was seeing off the cadets. “You shouldn’t be here--what were you thinking?” 

“I wanted a beach vacation, too,” he said, with a crooked smile on his face. “You can’t have all the fun to yourself. I missed you, Maize.” 

Malarus, of course, jumped after him. Roaring, riot control baton whirling. She didn’t seem fazed by the impact at all -- right. The space drug stuff. 

“Gotta go,” Karr said. Running, he leaped onto the back of the deparing waterspeeder that was pulling away from the garrison dock. He watched as the silhouette of Malarus became an angry dot in the horizon.

* * *

“KR-731’s a Jedi?” Kade said. “I had no idea. He’s just a TIE pilot who volunteered to take us to Rakata Prime when he heard where we were headed. I’ve never met him before.” 

Malarus crossed her arms. “Are you in league with him? You, Tezuna, Specter, and Dente?” She was twitching -- she was due for the next dose, and it felt like her bones were aching beneath her skin.

“Of course not,” Kade retorted. “We’re here for the trials.” 

Raynshi interupted, “If he’s a Jedi, the old stories say that they have powers like mind manipulation. Lieutenant Kade and Lieutenant Tezuna could’ve been tricked. Plus, Kade clearly grew up in our Order, Commander. I don’t think he’s a traitor.” 

Begrudgingly, Malarus admitted to herself that Tezuna also had an aura around her that screamed First Order officer. They were of the same breed, she and Tezuna, even if the other woman wasn’t chemically enhanced like her. 

But she was not a fool. “But _you._ You know him, Raynshi.” 

“Yes,” the half-breed said, sticking out her chin. “He’s an old school friend of mine. I think he’s here to do something stupid, play-acting a Jedi hero, like he’s here to rescue me and disrupt our work here. I don’t need rescuing. I’m loyal through and through.” 

“And,” she added, “Karr wasn’t able to steal my datapad. It wasn’t in my office -- I left it in the locked control room after receiving this morning’s packet of data. I’m the only person who knows the code for this half of the day.

“I’m not stupid, Malarus. I thought I saw his droid and had a feeling he was here. I wasn’t sure -- but in the end, it worked out, and Karr’s not anywhere near the comm tower anymore. He’s going where our cadets are going.” 

Malarus said, “Alright, Raynshi. Then prove your loyalty. You and Kade and Tezuna. It seems like I have to alter some rules for the second trial.”

She held up her comlink, contacting the stormtrooper who piloted the waterspeeder. “EK-4869. Convey this message to the cadets. As previously announced, the second trial -- RAKATA RUMBLE -- is a test of survival and combat. There are weapons and equipment hidden on the island that may be of use.

“The original stated goal was this: Find the hidden holo-beacons on the island. Amass as many resources as you can. Brave the dangers of the woods and your fellow cadets. Survive until nightfall, and the last ones alive with the holo-beacons are the victors. 

“This still stands -- however, an intruder has entered a game. A purported Jedi. Kill him by any means necessary.” 

Kade mouthed ‘Rakata Rumble?’ to Raynshi. Malarus would’ve growled at him, except her tremors had returned. She reached for her hypo-syringe and sank it into her eye with a _pop_ , feeling the power surge through her veins: restoration and revitalization.

“What does this have to do with us proving our loyalty?” Raynshi said, her mouth twisted in distaste. 

“I almost forgot,” Malarus said, as the blood oozed from her rapidly swelling eye. “You’ll be playing, too.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some characterization stuff for Yama and Pacer, as well as set-up for the next chapter!

“Brainiac. Blaze. Ferdin Fang. Strikejaw.”

“Fang and Strikejaw are Kade Genti’s archnemeses,” FN-2187 said. He watched as the two mouse droids sailed off the small ramp -- precariously angled trays taken from the mess hall --and then skidded across the floor to the finish line. “Frag.” 

“I win again,” Pixel crowed, smugly. She and FN-2187 were sitting on Pixel’s bunk in the barracks, watching as the MSE-6 droids completed a circuit around a make-do track. 

“You program yours to be faster,” FN-2187 said, lightly jabbing his elbow against her. “Anyway, it’s alright. I don’t think this nickname business is for me.” 

“Excuse you, I am the very example of integrity--”

“This morning, Cardinal accused you of slicing the answers for last week’s test.”

“There’s no evidence of that,” Pixel said. “And you’re really sure about the name?”

FN-2187 looked away, his face hidden in the shadows of the bunk bed’s frame. “It doesn’t seem to stick. The others won’t call me a nickname. It’s -- y’know. A serious trooper thing.” 

Pixel puffed out a breath. “You shouldn’t let it get to you. Being a teacher's pet. We’re not stationed on a bloody battlefield.”

“But we’re training for the battlefield,” FN-2187 reminded her.

“Exactly,” said a voice, and they both turned around -- it was Nines. “We’re graduating to Captain Phasma’s program soon. We’re not kids anymore.” He prodded one of the mouse droids with the toe of his boot. “So stop acting like one, Pix.” 

“Oh, shut up,” Pixel said. “Because _you’re_ the most brilliant and talented trooper of them all. Didn’t you go down five ranks on the leaderboard yesterday?” 

Nines flushed. “You think you’re so clever just because you’re good with tech. That won’t save your life out there in a real war.”

FN-2187 scowled. “None of us have seen any action yet, Nines. And Pixel being smart with tech is playing to her strengths. On a battlefield, I’d sure like to have her at my back, whether she’s disrupting the enemy’s comlines or planting mines. I’d like to have you flanking me with a riot control baton or vibro-staff -- Zeroes with a blaster rifle or force pike -- and Slip flying drones.”

“Because that’s the only thing he’s good at,” Nines said, snorting. But all the temper had evaporated from his voice, and he was grudgingly regarding FN-2187 with an attitude of respect that was unsettling and discomforting though not unfamiliar. He did it; Cardinal did it; and Zeroes and Slip and even Pixel, too. 

It was ridiculous.

FN-2187 said, “Nines, I thought you had an extra airspeeder lesson today. Did you finish early?” 

Abashed, Nines dragged his hand through his red hair. “Sorry. Cardinal sent me to give a message to you guys. Phasma’s here and she’s looking for you two. I don’t know what this is about, but whatever it is, you’re not in trouble, and this is a big deal. It sounds like an off-ship training exercise or something.” 

FN-2187 and Pixel exchanged glances. That explained Nines’ angry entrance. He was jealous that they had been summoned by Captain Phasma herself. He understood why FN-2187 was named -- Cardinal’s favorite who kept a decent rank on the leaderboard -- but he had never liked Pixel and likely wished that he was going in her place.

“Appreciate the heads-up,” FN-2187 said, and Nines nodded and exited the barracks.

FN-2187 slipped off the bed and reached for his satchel, which was on his bunk above Pixel’s. “Let’s see what this is about.” This whole situation was strange. They were scheduled to graduate next standard month, so why was Phasma looking for them now?

“You’re already packed--?” Pixel said.

“Cardinal said it’s important to always be prepared.” 

“Show-off.” She got down from her bunk and scooped up the mouse droid Nines had kicked, opening a panel on its side. “Thanks for sticking up for me, even though you didn’t have to. By the way -- you’ll find it one day.” 

“Find what?” 

“Your name.” 

* * *

“So, what the pfassk are you going to do? The hypothetical final battle happens -- the Resistance somehow wins -- and you’re going to run out of your X-wing while everyone’s celebrating, and stab Lieutenant Nasz with a vibro-knife?” 

“Yes,” Pacer said.

“That’s stupid,” Yama said. “You’re stupid.” She brushed a hanging vine from the overhanging greenery, and carefully stepped around tree roots. She hadn’t been kidding when she had told Nasz that her pathfinding capabilities were non-existent, but at the very least she could try not to trip.

“You wouldn’t understand, Dex.” Condescendingly. As if she was five standard years of age instead of fifteen. 

She said, angry, “I joined the First Order out of my own free will, you know.”

He looked back at her, his dark eyes surprised. 

“I thought it would be exciting. Setting foot on undiscovered planets and seeing new plants and animals. Teaching kids in Wild Space about Core World history and tech. Learning how to fly ships and speak new languages.

“I know I was an idiot to believe all the propaganda, but that’s what they told us once they occupied Corellia. Their recruiters came to my school nearly every day. Nearly every day, kids were leaving to join.” 

She remembered: looking out the window after she had finished an exam early and seeing the shuttle take off, venting exhaust in its wake. 

“It was just me and my dad at home. During the daytime, he drove transports, making deliveries for scrappers. During the nighttime, he visited spice dens. He never cared about me, and I would’ve starved to death a long time ago if our neighbors hadn’t taken pity on me. 

“So, one day, I walked up to the recruiter, and she had me take an assessment. It was supposed to determine where I would best fit with the Order. TIE fighter pilot -- researcher -- security bureau agent -- engineer -- there were so many possibilities. 

“Of course they got hung up on my memory. They decided it was cost-efficient and convenient to stick me in a records-keeping office in Coronet City. I tried to make the best of it. I thought, maybe I’ll be sent off-planet one day, maybe they’ll see that I’m more than a holocam -- but my boss was a petty karking asshole and he made my life _hell._ ”

“Fine,” Pacer cut in. “You have a backstory. You bought the propaganda. But you didn’t hurt anyone and you didn’t kill anyone, and what’s between me and Nasz is between me and Nasz.” 

“Nasz saved me, don’t you get it?” Yama said, punctuating her words with the stomp of her boots against the forest floor. “She and the entire Wexley family -- they saved me. What am I supposed to do if you kill Nasz, huh? Kill you in revenge? Where does this end?” 

And he had _no clue._ Datawork held the galaxy’s secrets; people’s lives depended on background organizing and strategizing and knowing. That was why she liked Commander Finn, because he didn’t treat Resistance support staff members as trivial or redundant. 

Abruptly, Pacer put a finger to his lips. Yama heard it, too -- a distant swishing sound -- and like a Kowakian monkey-lizard, Pacer started clambering up one of the trees.

“What are you--” 

He shook his head and motioned her to follow.

“Mother of Moons,” she muttered. She wasn’t made for this pathfinder business at all. But she grabbed onto the vines, thanking the stars that they were thick and knotted, and she pulled herself up after him.

One hand after another. One foot after another. Her hands were sweating, and her heart was hammering. It helped to follow Pacer, counting the hollows where he put his boots and the branches that could bear his weight.

Eventually, he took refuge behind a dense patch of leaves. Yama was still meters below him, and he peered down at her -- she waved at him -- and he began doing something with an item from his utility belt, too far to make out.

A beat, and a length of a rope cascaded before her.

She grinned, clipped it to her belt, and felt a reassuring tug from above. When she made it up to him, he was adjusting the rope from where he’d hooked it into the trunk into a rudimentary belay system. 

From the perch on high, she could see the source of the noise that they had detected. It was the cadet from Parmanthe-- Roben Pell -- walking through the woods with a vibro-lance in hand. It appeared like he had found one of the hidden weapons.

His dark eyes were alert, and he moved with purpose. 

In a sudden twitchy movement, Pell whipped his head to the side. He lunged with his vibro-lance at the bushes in front of him --

\-- and it struck a small creature. The creature lurched out from the undergrowth, letting out a warbled yelp, its limbs and tail thrashing in the air as it took the brunt of the electroshock. 

Pell made a noise of disappointment, drawing his spear away from it. He resumed walking and disappeared from view, and Yama felt a cold shiver crawl down her shoulders as she waited until he was a fair distance away.

Still silent, Pacer’s brow was furrowed. Then he took hold of the rope and rappelled down, and Yama did the same, shimmying down the length of it. She let out a breath of relief once her boots touched the solid earth.

Pacer moved to kneel by the injured creature. It was reptilian in nature, yellow-skinned, covered in green spots. It was still alive, though squirming.

“‘S’alright,” Pacer said, as it _eeped!_ at the sight of them. “You’ve got a nasty burn on your stomach. I have some bacta.” He reached for his utility belt again and pulled out a tiny container.

The creature spasmed in fright. Pacer patted the jagged crown of its head, and it cooed, stilled, and allowed him to apply the ointment.

“I’m pretty sure that’s a gizka,” Yama said, thoughtfully. Commander Doza had made a note of them in her observations about Rakata Prime: _Cute, but don’t let them near your X-wing, because they eat electrical wiring._

She told Pacer about Doza’s comment, and he nodded. “Reminds me of Bracca’s scrap rats. My sister hates them and thinks they’re pests, but I kept one and taught her some tricks.” 

“Maybe you can teach this gizka some tricks. Sic it on Malarus,” Yama suggested. 

Pacer hefted the gizka onto his shoulders. “Maybe. And you wanted to save that Pell guy. It looks like he would’ve vibro-speared us, no questions asked.” 

She pictured the way the cadet had driven the vibro-lance forward. “Well, he’s Parmarthen. He probably hunted lions back home.” 

“Let’s hope we can run faster than Parmarthen lions.” 

“Or at least climb faster,” she said. “Thanks for the assist up there, Agoyo.” 

Shrugging, he said, “Well, we’re in this together, right?” He flashed her a rueful smile, and said, quietly, “You’re right, you know. Sometimes I wonder if this will ever end. All of this. I’m fighting the exact same war my dad and my brother fought.” 

“Then stop this thing with Nasz. At least you can end that.” 

“It’s not that easy, Dex."

“We’re all in this together. You, me, Nasz, Finn, Karr, and Arzee.”

“-- Gods, I hope we get out of this mission alive.” 

“The Force is on our side.” 

“You believe in that stuff?” 

“For months, I’ve been working in the same room as _Leia Organa_. What else can I do except believe?”

* * *

A temple loomed in front of them. It looked like an illustration straight from Rey’s Jedi books: a foreboding megalithic structure that stretched up to the sky. The Rakatan temple was covered in vines and mosses -- lined with stone steps -- and marked with faded patterns that must have been vibrant blue, a long time ago. 

According to Raynshi, the temple was the epicenter of the second Frontier Trial. First Order viper droids had dropped off supplies and equipment inside, as well as the holo-beacons that were the objectives of the ‘treasure hunt.’

“And I know Karr,” she said, her voice pinched. “He’s bound to be here or on his way here, that history nerd. Supposedly, ancient Rakatans worshipped the Force. It’s not going to be easy to get in, though -- this temple’s literally a labyrinth.”

“A maze,” Finn said. “Is this a bad time to--”

Raynshi gave Finn a look. “You know, for all the prestige and reputation of our stormtrooper program, I never thought it’d produce someone like you.” 

He said, shrugging, “We’re people underneath our helmets, too.” The life of a stormtrooper was the definition of routine -- maintenance, training, guard duty -- and if you didn’t crack a joke or two with your fellow troopers, you’d probably go insane. Plus, bantering with Poe and other Resistance people had its influence; he’d once overheard Jess Pava groan, _I’m surrounded by quippy bastards._

Definitely not a recent thing, though. Finn reminisced out loud: “One of our favorite running jokes was guessing what Phasma looked like without _her_ helmet. For a while, there was the theory that she was two Ewoks stacked on top of each other, because she always aced the climbing courses during demonstrations.”

Of course, she was undeniably human, and Finn had seen proof of that himself: that frenetic final fight before he’d killed her, her face half-visible beneath her cracked helmet, her eyes very watery blue and very angry. 

As for her origins, the main consistent rumor was that she had been a warrior queen from a pre-industrial world.

“ _\---she wasn’t any sort of queen, not really. She led the Scyre, but she did it side-by-side with my father--”_

Where did that come from? Finn blinked, and he felt a strange familiarity -- deja vu -- take hold of him, and that ache in his head, the one that had constricted his breath. He pushed it away -- the voice of a young girl -- and diverted his attention back to Raynshi. 

“ _Two_ Ewoks?" Raynshi was saying, amused. “If only we had real workplace diversity. Still, I always thought it was funny that Captain Phasma had that reputation. Not letting anyone see her face. Malarus should’ve taken headwear advice from her.”

“Or got herself an eyepatch.” Reminded of Malarus and the task at hand, Finn snapped his fingers. “So, Raynshi, do you know how to get through the temple?”

“No idea. The labyrinth has a bunch of deadly traps set by the old Rakatans. For all that Malarus brags about the trials, she and the guy before her were mostly letting this temple do the work for them.” 

Traps. Typical. That was fine. Finn was calling himself Kade anyway, so he might as well brave his way through this booby-trapped temple, just as Kade Genti explored mysterious caves and underwater kingdoms.

He reached for his satchel - sifting aside blaster cartridges, medpacs, a pair of goggles, quadnocs, emergency rations, a mini-holochess board, and miscellaneous ephemera - and produced a roll of coiled wire. "Well, we can pick a direction and go from there."

Raynshi boggled. "Did you bring the whole galaxy in there? Malarus barely gave us time to leave." 

"Stormtrooper. Want a stick of chewstim?" Someone had left a pack lying around in the Resistance base common room and Finn had pocketed it. The pieces were mint-flavored and you could blow them into bubbles. He didn’t really see the point of it, but it seemed like a waste to leave it there.

"I'll pass, thanks."

* * *

After some contemplation, Pacer started calling the gizka Meyu. It was the name of one of Nuja’s triple moons: Meyu, Dyami, and Siyana. His mother used to tell him and Puwan old folktales about them. They were supposed to be ancient warriors turned into celestial bodies. Predatory and roving and relentless, Dyami chased Meyu and Siyana, yet they were always too fast and too clever for him.

He missed Nuja. His sister hadn’t understood why he had returned to their home planet -- _you’re one of Bracca’s best Riggers, Pacer!_ \-- but he’d felt driven like Dyami was in his endless hunt.

He had wanted to see what was left, years later, even under the shadow of First Order occupation. It was sickening. In the place of their hometown, the First Order had set up mining operations, sending mechanical drills through the Ambata Mountains.

Before Pacer climbed the starship wrecks of Bracca, he’d climbed those mountains. _I used to take your brother up here all the time,_ his dad had said. _Sometimes I still regret it, but he turned out to be one of the Rebel Alliance’s best godsdamned Pathfinders._

His brother. Pacer hadn’t even known him. He and his sister had been born long after his death. Nevertheless, his presence lingered everywhere -- his bedroom left untouched, littered with his possessions: old pathfinder gear, a stuffed toy nerf, a kasta drum, a camtono of decicreds.

Even on their deathbeds, ridden by the pikiki fever, coughing and delirious, Pacer’s parents had called for him, their first child who had joined the war. 

It was colossally unfair that Pacer had grown up without his older brother. It was colossally unfair that Teza Nasz could walk the galaxy, free and unhindered. It was unfair that the Empire was back in the form of the First Order, and they could _take_ planets, raze entire towns as if they were nothing-- his sister, screaming, when a stormtrooper shot her; they were just kids, begging him not to burn down their home, the only thing they had left of their family _\--_

It felt like fate when Pacer had run into Wedge Antilles on Nuja, looking to recruit his long-dead father. 

“You need an Agoyo?” Pacer had said, thrusting his thumb against his chest. “You’ve got one.” 

Antilles was hesitant, but Pacer badgered him -- _my dad taught me how to fly; I want to fight this war for my family, sir_ \-- and Norra Wexley had looked at him, her eyes full of conflicting emotions, before she said, “Let the kid come with us.” 

Pacer was jolted from his memories when Meyu shifted on his shoulders and chittered. There was something else in the forest again, and it sounded big, like the roar of a rancor. 

A high-pitched cry erupted from the forest.

Yama said, “I think that’s Meva.” She took off running through the woods, and Pacer said, teeth gritted, “Isn’t she supposed to be the competition--?” Hadn’t they been dodging Pell on purpose earlier?

But he went, because he knew that being a rebel sometimes meant running toward trouble instead of away from it. 

There was a wide clearing and a temple in the middle of it. 

There was Meva Tanzer -- the other cadet -- who was clutching a vibro-sword. She was grimacing, limping, her stomach and her right leg bearing gaping wounds.

There was a monster. It was about three meters tall. It had bulging muscled arms. It was covered in black fur and flexing elongated claws. It looked like a Kuhayan bear -- the kind that devoured entire nerf packs on Nuja. 

“Pell!” Yama blurted out. She rushed to Tanzer’s side, helping steady the wobbling girl. “What happened?”

That monster was Pell? 

“We just saw him about an hour ago,” Pacer said in disbelief. “I don’t remember him being this ugly.”

“One of the First Order viper droids gave him a stim-shot,” Tanzer said, leaning against Yama, panting. “Told him it was an ordinary booster. It wasn’t a stim-shot. It changed him.” 

Malarus. Brave the dangers of the woods and your fellow cadets, she had said.

“And I am stronger!” the monster growled. “I can feel it -- I’m stronger than any Pamarthen fighter in all of history!”

“And it made him angrier,” Tanzer added, completely unnecessarily. 

“Pell -- Roben -- this is Malarus’ fault,” Yama said, urgently, standing in front of Tanzer. “She’s messing with the test. She poisoned you. We’ll do whatever we can to find an antidote, anything to turn you back to normal, but you need to calm down and… not hurt anyone anymore.” 

The not-cadet laughed. “Isn’t that the point of these games? The last one standing wins. The commander gave me a gift.” And lumbering forward, he lunged. 

Pacer, however, had been edging to the side, and he grasped Pell’s dropped vibro-lance in the grass. He met the attack head-on, the vibrating blade clashing against furious claws. Meyu, still perched on his shoulders, nearly lost her balance, but managed to grapple on with a curl of her tail around his upper arm. 

“Dex,” he said, straining, “get Tanzer out of the way and call for back-up.”

Yama said in a low voice, so Tanzer wouldn’t hear: “Finn’s in the temple keeping Raynshi busy and Karr’s catching up to them.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “I can’t believe I’m saying this. I think we’re gonna need a warlord.” 

She smiled. “I think we might.” She tugged Tanzer aside -- “I have some bacta, let’s check out your injuries--” and they disappeared into the trees.

Pacer hopped backwards, disengaging. “Hey, ugly. Quit picking on little kids. You’re not strong. You’re weak, relying on some mutant drug mixed by Malarus.” He dodged as Pell bellowed and struck out.

Pell was fast. Pacer hadn’t expected a gigantic beast like him to move like that, but he was a whirlwind of black fur, plods of grass and dirt exploding underneath him as he rampaged.

It was only Pacer’s Rigger instincts that were keeping him alive.

 _Think of it like this,_ Puwan had told him, _you’re on a mountain at the very top of the world. The mountain can fall down at any moment. The mountain can explode under you at any moment. The mountain’s foundations can get eaten by hungry scrap rats._

 _But whatever happens, you better still be on top of the karking mountain. Because you’re a Rigger, Pacer, and that means that you_ never _fall._

He darted -- jumped -- leaped. His feet didn’t fail him, and he let them guide him to safety. He saw an opening, and, vibro-lance whirling in his hands, he crashed the blade against Pell’s flank, sending him reeling backwards.

Unfortunately, Pell got up. “That was nothing,” he sneered. “Like a wasp sting.” 

The vibro-lance wasn’t going to be enough. Well, staves weren’t his thing, anyway. He cast it aside.

Pell said, “Giving up already?”

“Hardly.” Pacer whipped the weapon from his belt -- the customized contraption that he had asked Commander Tico to throw together before leaving Pacara. On one end of the chain, there was a durasteel ring -- on the other end, a jagged blade. It was similar to Rigger grappling hook tools on Bracca, but he wanted to try something different. 

He twirled the chain in the air, spinning it above his head like a lasso. 

“What kind of toy is this, Specter?”

Pacer ignored him and darted to the side again. He built up momentum into the whirling chain, and twisted--- it tangled Pell’s legs together, the ring digging into furred skin, and he toppled. Grasping the dagger, Pacer _plunged_ \--

Pell bellowed in pain, and this time he spewed fire from his mouth. It set a patch of grass ablaze. 

“Are you pfassking kidding me,” Pacer said. “Are you pfassking kidding me.” 

The comm behind his ear buzzed.

Nasz.

“What’s your status, Agoyo?”

“Fine,” Pacer said, as Meyu helped him douse his partly flaming sleeve with a well-aimed thump of her tail. “You on your way?” He sprinted and escaped another tongue of fire. 

“I was taking out the troopers who drove the waterspeeders here,” she said. “It was a good warm-up.” 

Pacer laughed. “We might not get that duel after all. Sorry to spare you the joy of pounding me into the dirt.”

Yama was right. It was a stupid idea. 

Little by little, Pacer could feel himself tiring. There was only so much longer that he could run. “By the way -- my cover name, my first name. That was my brother’s name. Genn Agoyo. You better remember it, Nasz. I know you don’t care, but that was him.”

“I remember him.”

Pacer nearly tripped.

Nasz, her voice gravelly-deep: “Your brother died bravely. He protected his fellow rebel comrades, firing his blaster to the very end.” 

_Bravely._

Pacer picked up the vibro-lance. He set it against one of the fires, and watched as the inferno licked its way against the sizzling electro-blade. He threw it, and it struck true, hitting Pell in the abdomen, prompting him to howl.

Yet, infuriatingly, Pell was still standing. 

A silver flying object swooped into the scene. It started firing, blaster bolts against matted fur. One of the First Order viper droids-- had it been sliced--?

Then, the sheen of a blade. Not just any blade, but a double-bladed vibro-ax, wielded by a formidable woman in black, her dark eyes intent and dangerous. 

Pacer said, “You’re here.” 

“We’re here,” Yama agreed, as another droid alighted from behind her. 

* * *

The first trap was a pit full of sharp protruding spikes. The second trap was a pit full of red spiders. The third trap was a pit full of red spiders covered in spiked stingers. 

Finn said, “I thought the ancient Rakatans were a technologically advanced society.”

He had no idea how they avoided death, but he’d gone with his gut as he and Raynshi weaved their way through the labyrinth, doubling back from dead-ends and false turns with the help of the wire. They’d been able to jump out of the way as the stone floors gave way -- or, memorably, unpleasantly, there was already a person that had triggered a trap, spiders crawling across skeleton bones like blooming flower petals bursting from soil.

“They couldn’t resist the classics,” Raynshi said, dryly, as they tiptoed around the spider pit. “I wonder what all these drawings mean.”

On the walls of the labyrinth, swirls of pictures were accompanied by writing in an indecipherable language. 

“This one looks like a ship,” Finn said, touching it with his hand. It was round in shape, powered by long wings. While TIE fighters brought into mind bats, these were like can-cells.

His trigger finger caught against a protuberance embedded in the wall-- one of the stars surrounding the ship. It was more than a drawing; it was a crystal shard.

He saw it in the next drawing -- the spot of a reptilian creature. There wasn’t one in the corridor on the left, a two-headed bird that marked a dead end, but on the right, in the eye of a fish, a tiny gem glittered.

He said, “I think I know which way to go.”

So, for lack of better guidance, they followed the crystals. The path was now pitfall-free, and this had to lead somewhere. Through dusty passages and shadowed halls, they pressed on toward the heart of the temple.

Finally -- a yawning room with an open ceiling. From the walls, more crystals shimmered: the scales of a horned snake, the saw-blade limbs of a many-headed insectoid, the snow on the crest of a mountain. 

Karr Ravel -- no, Karr Nuq Sin -- was already there. He was kneeling before a crystalline sculpture of a prone dragon, holding its snout with ungloved hands, his eyes closed. The dragon’s eyes glimmered a faint glowing green.

Karr wobbled in place, and glancing backward, seeing Finn and Raynshi, he paled. “You’ve got to get out of here,” he said. “I didn’t realize--”

Raynshi withdrew her blaster from its holster on her hip. “You’re coming with us, Karr. We might’ve been friends, but things are different now.”

Finn put his arm in front of her. “Wait.”

The dragon statue _moved._ It was breathing--its wings shifted--its tail lifted.

“What did you do?” Raynshi demanded. “Karr!” 

“It’s supposed to guard the temple,” he said, his eyelids fluttering. “And it can get even more unstable around Force-sensitive individuals. I know I should be careful about touching things, but I was wondering why in the name of Mortis there’s a dragon made out of _kyber_ on Rakata Prime. I’m trying to make it go back to sleep, but my control with the Force has always been… tenuous.”

“What’s going to happen if you lose control?” Finn asked. He had a feeling he knew what the answer was.

“This thing is made out of the same material that powers lightsabers,” Karr said. “The same material that powered the Death Star and Starkiller Base.” 

Raynshi stiffened. She looked like she was about to say something, except then, then, the dragon opened its jaws, showing off sharp crystal teeth. Karr scrambled to grasp it again, holding onto the scales of its neck. 

Finn moved like this was a dream, a memory, and he knelt down beside Karr. He placed his hands on the dragon’s horned head. 

“You’ve been here before,” Karr said, quietly. “But you don’t remember. You’ll have to take over for me.” 

The dragon’s eyes turned blue. Karr slumped over, sprawled against the dragon -- unconscious -- and Finn saw blinding, engulfing light. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the entire reason why I wrote this fic and I could write an entire essay about it.

_Who are you?_

* * *

Six standard years old, and a new world unfurled in front of his eyes. The barrage of screens detailed comm frequencies -- environmental readings -- power levels -- thermal and motion detection. FN-2187 toggled the button on the side of the helmet, scrolling through the options.

The constellation outside the adjacent viewport was called Tirra’Taka Major. The oxygen levels on the _Absolution_ were holding stable at twenty-one percent. His fellow cadets were illuminated in eerie infrared, the scanner identifying them by their designations.

“I see you’re familiarizing yourself with your bucket.”

Guiltily, FN-2187 jerked his hand away. He didn’t want to accidentally lock the helmet on the wrong setting. “Yes, sir.”

Captain Cardinal sounded amused. “How are you finding it, Eight-Seven? Does it fit well enough?” He knelt to examine the helmet on FN-2187’s head, gauntlet-clad hands running against the auto-seal conduit.

“It fits,” FN-2187 assured him. “It’s not too tight and it’s not falling off. I can see out of it.” 

“Good.” Cardinal smiled and tapped his knuckles against it. “Every time you young ones are outfitted for the first time, I remember the first time I received my own armor.”

“Your red armor, Captain?” FN-2187 said, eyeing it. The color made Cardinal a rarity among the First Order’s rank and file, standing out against the whites and greys and blacks.

“No, before that,” Cardinal said. “I didn’t earn my red armor until later. I was wearing white plastoid like the rest of you.”

FN-2187 mulled that over. Maybe he would earn colorful armor of his own when he was older. But for now, he thought, he would wear the white like everyone else.

“That must’ve been a _long_ time ago,” he said, picturing Cardinal as his age and his height.

“Not that long ago,” Cardinal said, the laugh lines of his face crinkling. “I joined the Order when I was an adolescent. Not as little as you and the others. I was recruited by Counselor Rax.”

“He orchestrated the Battle of Jakku,” FN-2187 said promptly, recognizing the name from their recent history lessons.

Iris had played segments of Rax’s last speech, amplifying the counselor’s clipped imperious tone. That same evening, FN-2187 caught Slip practicing Echani forms while muttering it under his breath: _Go and drag them down to the ground and break their necks with your boots! Take their heads! End their tyranny!_ Slip looked rather absurd -- pale, uncoordinated, hazel-eyed Slip, sweeping clumsy kicks and shaky blocks in the cadet barracks -- but FN-2187 had silently joined him, setting the pace of the forms, and Slip had looked relieved to have a partner.

“Indeed,” Cardinal said. “Counselor Rax placed me and several other students under the tutelage of then-Commandant -- now General -- Hux.”

“What was it like?” FN-2187 asked. “Growing up on a planet?” 

“It’s much different than life on a Star Destroyer,” Cardinal told him. “It was hard. Harsh. I was on my own for most of the time. Or with other children in an orphanage -- but it was a backwards place, full of strange hermits who peddled a primitive religion. I ended up running away and toughing it out in the desert. You’re lucky, skittermouse--” he lifted FN-2187’s helmet upwards, bringing FN-2187’s normal vision back to the forefront, absent the array of screens --”you’re not eating crickets for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.” 

“ _Ew._ ”

“Exactly.”

“What do you mean by -- a ‘primitive religion’?” He didn’t think that they learned about that yet.

“Old superstitions. Old ideas. My mother grew up in the orphanage herself, and she used to sing me the anchorites’ songs.” Cardinal hummed a short melodic snippet.

FN-2187 felt the song thrill through him. He had heard this song before, maybe not the exact notes of it, maybe not the same arrangement, but the aria felt achingly familiar. It was a song that was in everything, from the darkness of space to the rotation of the stars. It was in the terrarium where the cadets learned about life forms on different planets, foreign flora to endure and navigate through, but all FN-2187 could think was how _alive_ it was. It was in the way the Kowakian monkey-lizards scurried in the ship’s vents -- it was in the way Cardinal gently squeezed his hand when he woke up crying from dreams of long ago things forgotten -- it was how he felt them, heard them, even as the First Order’s songs blared like a siren, his squadmates sleeping in the bunks around him-- 

Years later, he would hear it again. Louder and clearer than anything. The dark angry sweep of Kylo Ren’s cloak as he stalked through the village on Jakku, red saber flashing. The girl who approached FN-2187-turned-Finn, staff in hand, scowling and calling him a thief, but there was something about her that was bright, blinding. The rebel general who called him brave, radiating wisdom and legend and nobility and the _song--_

\-- It was in him. It was in him, too, in the beat of his heart, in the draw of his breath, before he was even a boy called a number.

* * *

Rakata Prime. Eight years ago. 

“I come from a place like this one,” the girl said, pointing at the sea. “It was ocean everywhere. We lived on the cliffs, me and the rest of the clan. They took care of me. Phasma taught me how to fight.”

She told them the story, the complicated twists and turns of it, even though mired in the misty recollections of a child. 

“And now she wants you dead?” Pixel asked. 

The girl nodded. “Because I know she killed Brendol Hux. I don’t remember it very well, but while we were journeying in the desert, there were these bugs that swallowed up living things. Ate people. She must’ve used one to kill him.”

FN-2187 remembered Pixel’s description of Brendol Hux’s grisly death. Who would have thought that Phasma would do something like that? The other cadets all idolized her, the chromium shining captain and champion of the First Order, the instructor who ensured they were hardened and war-ready.

It turned out that she was more than the gloss and the glory. Phasma was an underhanded murderer, and UV-8855 was caught in the crossfire. FN-2187 never had a real family before, but from all the pirated comics and novels he had read, he had learned about the bonds between brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, kith and kin. If Phasma was half the hero the posters and rumors proclaimed her to be, wouldn’t she be honorable? Wouldn’t she spare her own niece? 

“It’s such a roundabout way to kill someone,” FN-2187 said, pacing through the foliage of the forest. “Nominating you for the trials-- hoping that you’ll die because you’re the youngest.” 

“Sounds like she wants it to be listed as an accident, in case anyone goes digging,” Pixel mused.

“I think she gave GF-2383 and EX-5363 direct orders to kill me.”

“The way that they cornered you earlier?” FN-2187 said. “Yeah, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

He and Pixel had stumbled on the two other cadets converging on UV-8855 with vibro-staves, but they’d held them off. It was an uneven fight -- GF-2383 and EX-5363 were older and stronger than UV-8855 -- and she’d been able to avoid them by climbing the trees, until a branch had broken under her and she was back on level ground, nursing a sprained ankle.

UV-8855 cast them both a sideways glance. “So you’re still okay with teaming up with me? Even though Phasma has it out for me and these tests are rigged?” 

“Of course,” FN-2187 said, firmly. “We’re not the type of soldiers who would leave someone behind. Or,” he added, “at least, that’s what I feel. Pix--?”

“I feel the same,” Pixel said, and FN-2187 gave her a grateful nod. “Phasma’s the one who murdered an officer. She shouldn’t be able to get away with it and cover it up.”

FN-2187 said, “We can tell Cardinal once we beat this trial and get off-planet. He’ll listen.”

“Then-- thank you.” UV-8855 rubbed her hand against her swollen ankle, where Pixel had applied a bacta treatment. “I won’t be able to walk very fast. Sorry.”

“You can lean on me,” Pixel volunteered. She helped the younger girl stand, wobbling against her. “Where are we headed, Eight-Seven?”

Taking out the quadnocs from his satchel, FN-2187 used the vantage point on top of a nearby embankment to survey the forest east, west, south, north. It was the last direction that pulled his attention like a tractor beam, and FN-2187 could see a structure peeking out behind the tops of trees.

He said, “That temple over there.”

* * *

“Hey! Spit her out _right now!_ ”

The akk dog whimpered in protest. Rose shot him a withering glare that probably would’ve exploded the Death Star. After a few seconds, the dog opened his red maw, and a spittle-slick, feather-frazzled porg tumbled out.

Finn scooped up the porg -- it was Tessalie, going by the splash of white on her wings -- and returned her to her perch. She shook off the wetness on her body and let out a cross screech. “Yeah, I know. Sorry about that.”

Amidst glowing holo-screens and bustling technicians, several of the _Millennium Falcon’s_ porgs had made a home in the control dome on Anoat. They liked the gleaming shininess of the equipment, as well as the Resistance crewers who occasionally slipped them crumbs -- but they didn’t quite get along with Zel, the akk dog that Rey had rescued from a hungry Anoatian pit beast.

Since Rey had gone on a mission to Devaron, she left the dog in Rose and Finn’s care. They’d both taken to the creature immediately, even if his stomach often got the best of him.

“Porgs are friends, not food,” Rose said, sternly, as the akk dog finished coughing up the last of Tessalie’s feathers. “We don’t eat our friends, Zel.”

Finn shook his head in exasperation. “He’s a real troublemaker.”

“I think he’s bored of being cooped up in here.” Rose stretched and vanished the holo-displays in front of her with a wave of her hand -- she had been examining the blueprints of the newly-arrived Mon Calamari ships, trying to get an idea of their full capabilities. Finn had been her sounding board, telling her what he’d studied about Mon Cala warfare during his cadet days. “And, truthfully, I’m getting pretty antsy. Want to take Zel out for a walk with me, Finn?”

“A break sounds good.” Finn slipped on the respirator mask attached to the canister clipped onto his belt, and Rose did the same.

Zel’s ears perked up at the mention of a walk. He trotted beside them as they exited the control dome, his scaly tail wagging.

As always, Anoat was overcast. A pall of brown-grey toxic miasma permeated the air, the spoils of an older, earlier war. For now, it was their current base, although Finn had been hearing chatter that Leia was thinking of moving them soon.

No longer being scolded, Zel was in an enthusiastic mood. He bounded across the ruins, splayed claws crunching against duracrete, chasing a blue-furred rodent that he quickly snapped up into his jaws. He looked at Rose in askance.

“Yes, that’s food,” Rose confirmed, and the akk dog gulped. 

“Cute,” Finn said, with a snort. 

“He’s getting his lunch now,” Rose said. “And outdoor exercise for us. Anoat reminds me of Hays Minor sometimes.” Her hand closed around the medallion on her neck, before falling back to the side.

“Thought you said that Hays Minor was cold.” She had told Finn that on Tah’Nuhna -- while marveling at the Tah’Nuhnans’ volcanic glass palaces and technological achievements, she’d mentioned that the climate was similar to her old home planet, though milder.

“No, it’s the stuck inside part. We lived in a pod and couldn’t really leave, because outside was a desolate icy dark wasteland. Here, it’s a poisonous garbage wasteland and hours inside the control dome. Nothing like D’Qar. Paige and I couldn’t even physically handle all the green and the light at first; we had to wear goggles for a while…” Rose’s voice trailed off.

Finn gently knocked his shoulder against hers. “Stuck inside isn’t so bad. We’re making good progress on our work. Your sister would’ve been amazed to see you now, I bet -- you’re one of the general’s top advisers and engineers.” 

“More out of scarcity than merit,” she replied, soberly. “You’re right that we’re doing something, at least. I still can’t get it out of my head. All those First Order ships over Mon Cala -- and we _left_.” 

“We’ve got more ships and more people to rebuild our fleet,” Finn reminded her. “One day, they’ll come back, we’ll come back, or Mon Cala will form their own local resistance, and the planet will be free again. They survived the last war, and they’ll survive this, too.” 

(A lingering vision from long ago, an Iktotchi wielding a blue lightsaber and addressing a gold-skinned king and black armor-clad lord: _A time will come, decades from now, when the ships of the Mon Calamari are at the forefront of a great rebellion. And then again, decades after that._ ) 

Rose said, “If there’s anything left.” 

Finn put his hands up. “I’m trying to be optimistic here.”

“I know. It makes me mad. The unfairness of it all. Tah’Nuhna gave us food, fuel, and lodging for _a week._ Fondor didn’t give us a single steaming bantha shit, and the First Order swooped down on them, too. We’re working as hard as we can -- we _are_ \-- but it makes me want to shout out to the stars for everyone else in the galaxy to fight, to join us, to be as angry as I am.” Rose turned her head up at the murky sky, the universe above and beyond, as if she could summon them here with the conviction in her voice. 

“They are,” Finn said. “That girl from Corellia -- she’s just a kid and she used to work for the First Order. Connix told me that Yama was crying about Tah’Nuhna because she’d befriended the royal librarian, and she’s been throwing herself into datawork and techwork. Vi Moradi’s setting up the outpost on Batuu, so we’ll have a hub for new recruits. Casterfo and Brethen are doing their diplomacy shtick. Suralinda’s doing PR recruiting campaigns on the HoloNet. Things are moving, Rose.” He counted it off on his fingers. That was barely even scratching the surface.

He continued, “We have to be smart about this. Even if the odds aren’t high, make a fleet out of a single TIE. Or, in this case, the _Falcon_ , a handful of X-wings, the Mon Cala fleet, and some other vessels.”

Rose let out a soft sound. “It’s kind of creepy, the way you pull out all those First Order sayings. What was that one you said on Garel, when we sabotaged that First Order arsenal? ‘If you have your enemy’s bacta and medicine---’”

“‘--poison them with teccitin,’” Finn completed, ruefully. Poe had given him a weird look, too, saying, _That’s dark, buddy_. “And, c’mon, I never assumed it meant to literally poison your enemy’s medical supplies. Just the importance of disrupting their operations.” Although looking back now, it _was_ the First Order. 

“I, for one, am glad you’re on our side. Mister Finn, the rhyming tactician.”

That totally didn’t rhyme. “Sure. Rebel Rose who beats her foes and hates weapons-dealing politicos.” 

“That’s _terrible._ ”

Finn grinned. “That’s what I’m here for.”

A squawk-like bark. Zel scrambled out from behind a pile of junk, another red-scaled akk dog loping behind him. 

Finn said, “Looks like he invited a friend to the porg buffet.”

Rose looked torn between admonishing Zel and petting the newcomer. She did both.

“What are we going to name this guy?” Finn wondered.

* * *

Snap Wexley clicked his fingers rapidfire fast as he bent over the dejarik board. _Snap-snap-snap-snap._ Then, he closed his hand into a fist, opened it, and motioned his k’lor’slug forward, the purple worm creeping up one space.

“You sure you want to do that?” Finn said.

Snap quirked his eyebrow. “Yes.”

“Alright.” Finn sent out his Monnok, which dispatched Snap’s k’lor’slug and Ghhk with a single-handed blow of its staff. 

“Slag it.”

“You gotta pay attention, man.”

The game was over in the next couple of moves. Finn claimed his winnings -- even though this wasn’t sabacc, it was fun to play for something, each player posting collateral on the line. For this round, it was a bag of bang-corn that Snap had picked up on his last supply run.

“I was hoping to win this one,” Snap said mournfully, rubbing his hand behind his neck. “Duros ale is one of Karé’s favorite drinks. L’ulo -- an old friend, may he rest in the Force -- introduced it to us a long while back. Haven’t had it in ages.” 

That was what Finn had wagered: a bottle of Duros ale, the liquid murky brown and smoky-scented. He had won it off of Shriv Suurgav after the last holochess game they had played. He still had no idea how he had been able to take out Shriv’s Kintan strider in the end; it was a close match. 

Finn shrugged. “You can have it if you want. Duros ale tastes like fuel to me.” 

“You sound like Poe,” Snap said, snorting, though he eagerly snatched up the bottle. “Way too choosy about your booze. It’s wartime. Sometimes you’ve got to drink what you can.” 

“You’re telling me? You don’t want to know how stormtrooper moonshine tastes like. I’m allowed to have a sense of taste. And I’m not as picky as Poe.” 

Poe disliked the majority of beers and preferred sweeter stuff. Last time they went on a mission together, they’d met a contact of Maz Kanata’s in a tavern on Nar Shaddaa. When Poe leaned over to whisper something in Finn’s ear, the heat of him warm and close, Finn smelled sweetness on his breath, the rich fragrance of whatever drink that the other man had ordered. Finn’s head was heady from the koja-rum he’d sipped himself… 

Snap was snapping his fingers again, but not in anxious concentration this time -- rather, a signal to get Finn’s attention. Finn blinked away the memory and was greeted by the sight of the pilot grinning widely.

“Wow,” Snap said. “You guys are ridiculous. Suralinda was right.”

Before Finn could fathom what the pfassk Snap meant, Snap stood up from the holochess table. “I’m gonna go share the news of the ale with Karé before our next mission briefing. Thanks -- and I’ll catch you next game.”

“Next game,” Finn said, and then he saw Rey and Beaumont Kin, who had entered the common room and observed the tail-end of the holochess match. Beaumont had his hand on his chin, smothering a smile, while Rey was eyeing the bang-corn enviously.

A heated bang-corn bag later, they were munching on the snack while Rey told Finn about the last Jedi lesson she had with Leia. Beaumont had been present to pontificate about his knowledge of Jedi history, although from what Finn could tell, it was mostly an excuse for him to watch the two in action doing Force stuff. 

Not that Rey had been very successful. Leia had tasked her to use the Force to solve a wooden puzzle box, a trick that required meticulous focus on unlocking intricate inner mechanisms.

“What’s frustrating is that I know I can solve it,” Rey said. “I know how to take things apart and put them together perfectly well with my hands! I can even Force push the box and break it open. Unlocking it with the Force--” She huffed. “It’s _delicate_ work.” She was evidently quoting Leia at the last part, and for emphasis, she took out the puzzle box from her capelet pocket and set it on the holochess table. It was a small cube, swirled flower carvings on its faces.

Finn tried to imagine staring at the box for hours. He’d probably combust out of boredom. “You’ll get there,” he said. “If you can float giant rocks on Crait, you can solve a puzzle.”

“I hope so,” she said, her lips twisted in a stubborn frown. “It’s important that I remember -- it’s more than a weapon, more than the power to jump high or pull objects. It’s the Force.”

“The energy that binds. The truth that isn’t true. The resolution of gray,” Beaumont intoned.

Finn said, “That makes no sense.”

“See?” Rey said, pointedly. “The vague writing in all the Jedi texts makes learning even harder. There’s good information in there, but much of it is obscured in poetry, metaphors, and abstract concepts. They aren’t technical manuals.”

“Of course they aren’t technical manuals,” Beaumont said, sounding appalled. 

“Yes, Professor. The next time I have a lightsaber duel with Kylo Ren, I’ll shout Thorpe’s unsolved theorem at him. We’re certain to win the war once he surrenders out of utter confusion.”

Finn snickered, while the historian rolled his eyes. 

After a beat, Rey said, “That wasn’t fair. I know you’re doing the best you can to help. It’s not like you’re Threepio lecturing me about language construction.”

“Language construction is important, too,” Beaumont said, droll. More gravely, he added, “No, Rey, you’re right to be frustrated. I don’t have authority on these things, history degree or otherwise. Unlike you and the general, I’ve never met Luke Skywalker -- I’m not a Force user -- so I apologize for my ramblings.” 

Rey shook her head. “You’re what I got. You, Beaumont -- you, too, Finn -- the general, Rose, Poe, the rest of the Resistance. I can’t revive the Jedi Order, but I can train and fight and plan alongside you all, and hope to come out of this not merely as a Jedi apprentice, but a capable rebel.” 

“Well-said,” Beaumont said, with a crooked smile.

“Rebel scum all the way,” Finn agreed. He understood where she was coming from, even if he wasn’t a Jedi like her. 

It was strange to operate out of lockstep from stormtrooper procedure and norms. FN-2187 was now among the Resistance, thrust out into the galaxy and attempting to find his place, and what kept him sane and staying at the end of the day was _them._ A cause and a people. Not only to fight alongside, but to laugh with, wholly and truly; to share dreams of a galaxy free from the order that brought him as a child into the dark; to _feel_ , to feel so much like he had never felt before, smiling, crying, open and honest without the helmet over his face and the armor over his heart.

“You can worry about Jedi stuff later,” Finn told her. “You want to play a round of holochess with me?” She’d never played on the _Falcon_ with him, Poe, Rose, R2-D2, or Chewie, opting instead to watch them or busy herself with piloting or mechanical responsibilities onboard the ship; it was the same deal here on Pacara, as well, though with Rey picking sabacc as her game of choice. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to ask. 

Rey gave him a small smile. “You’d beat me like you trounced Wexley, wouldn’t you?” 

“He doesn’t think far ahead enough,” Finn said. Snap was one of the Resistance’s better dejarik players, but he wasn’t on the same level as Chewbacca or Vi Moradi. “Planning is key in dejarik. You’ve got to play like you’re running the Empty Ship strategy the entire time. Even if your opponent outnumbers you -- even if they have more pieces with higher health points -- you have to be calm, make them think you’re stronger than they are, and wait for them to slip up.”

It was one of the stratagems he had learned under Cardinal. It was what it was, even if it had been first given to him through the nightly whispered recordings broadcast to him as a child, even if it was a gambit emblazoned across holo-displays that recalled past wars and campaigns.

“Smart,” Rey said, regarding him with a solemn expression. “I can see why Leia put you in the control room.”

Finn opened his mouth to scoff, because he _wasn’t_ smart, he was performing behind-the-scenes functions that had to get done by someone. Then he noticed her gaze flickering, her brown eyes shadowed as she looked down at the board.

She said, “It’s alright. I promised to help Rose with some repairs on our speeders’ shields. Besides, holochess reminds me of something, and I don’t feel like I’m in the mood.” 

“Reminds you of what--?” 

“Another game. Black pieces with bits of white. White pieces with bits of black. A warrior with a long sword, a monster with claws, a man with a big hat, a hooded man… other pieces I can’t remember.” 

Beaumont said, “That sounds like shah-tezh. An ancient game. The precursor to dejarik, moebius, and saigok. Not many people know of it these days outside of hobbyists and historians -- I only recognize it because the sava of my university collected old sets. The Knight, the Beast, the Vizier, the Dowager, the Disciple, the Outcast, the Imperator…” 

Rey said, quietly, “I’ve played that before when I was younger, I think.”

“With other scavengers?” Finn asked. Rey seldom brought up her childhood growing up on Jakku, but now and then, she’d say things like, _Mashra taught me the importance of trusting my instincts_ , or _this reminds me of the time I saw a scavenger get torn apart by steelpeckers._

“I--” Rey stopped. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’m going to find Rose. See you later, Finn.” 

Beaumont glanced at Finn in mutual bafflement, but he followed her. Likely wanting to see Rose as well, Finn commented to himself, amused, though for a different reason than speeder fixing. Finn had no clue what was going on with the Beaumont, Rose, and Connix configuration -- whatever it was, it was none of his business.

Whatever was troubling Rey, however… Finn worried. It sounded like she didn’t entirely know what it was, either. He felt guilty that his offer of holochess made her react so strongly. He hoped that she’d feel better, because she was still the same Rey who declared moments earlier, _You’re what I got._

His eyes strayed toward the dejarik board. In her distress, Rey had left the puzzle box behind. 

He closed his eyes, and for a second, he envisioned the inner workings of labyrinthine bolts and locks. A breath, and a tumbler shifted an incremental millimeter.

Feeling disconcerted, Finn opened his eyes. The wooden box remained unopened, the etched flower petals unfurled like a taunt. He was imagining things, nothing more.

* * *

The Siege of Orish. 

The First Order had converged on the Orishens, who lived in elaborate metallic structures above their planet. They had blockaded them in -- intent on starving them out -- demanding that the Orishens provide them with workers for their factories, for their mines. They wanted a facade of a treaty, a lopsided agreement, as well as for the Orishens to fork over the unique technology that made up their infrastructure--

And the Resistance had come. The Resistance had come, a force of X-wings and Y-wings and A-wings and cruisers, and the First Order had struck like a coiled serpent. 

And the Resistance was _losing._

Finn was watching the holo-displays at the base on Pacara as the casualties mounted. Dagger Squadron, down. Jade Squadron, nearly wiped out except for Jade Leader. A quarter of the Mon Calamari fleet, Aftab Ackbar calling anguished over the comms to their crews as they plummeted, fiery -- “ _Thank you for your service. For all that you’ve done to combat the opposing current.”_

The remaining Resistance ships couldn’t even escape, because the First Order Star Destroyers were jamming their hyperdrives. 

From his X-wing above Orish, Poe contacted him. "Buddy!"

"Poe," Finn said, as Poe's helmeted visage rose from his holotransmitter, "you're in the middle of a battle, for pfassk's sake. This isn't the best time to catch up." His fingers were flying over a holoscreen, trying to figure out who else they could plausibly call for backup.

"I wanted to see your handsome mug for the last time. Who can blame a guy?" 

Finn elected to ignore that. “Look, we're trying to get through to more of our people - Shriv and Zay said they're on the way. We're hoping Wedge Antilles and Norra Wexley might be able to come with the other vets they recruited, but they're somewhere in the Outer Rim right now. And Leia’s calling Rey and Beaumont and Rose on Zeffo, too. It's just the _Falcon,_ but entire battles have been won because of that wreck of a ship--" 

"It's okay," Poe said. "Finn, it's okay." He smiled, his mouth curved.

Finn thought: He shouldn't smile like that. 

Poe jerked the joystick in front of him. Fiddled with some dials. "You know what this reminds me of? My ma and my dad almost froze to death in a cave on Hoth. Seriously, of all the ways to go out in the middle of the war, they could've become ice pops."

"Are you honestly doing family storytelling hour right now?" 

"Let me finish. They sent me a message when they thought they were goners. My granddad, who was taking care of me, received the recording. Of course I didn't understand what they were saying. I was still a little kid. My granddad told me later: I tried to grab the holo of my folks, who were cold and shivering and sad, and I fell. I fell on my dumb baby face and screamed my head off."

Poe laughed. "So that was baby nerko Poe. And that was my parents. Shara Bey of Green Squadron and Kes Dameron of the SpecForce Pathfinders. It would've been amazing last words, y'know, the things they said about fighting the war for me. I don't know if I have anything like that to say."

"Because you don't need to," Finn said. "You've gotten out of worse situations before. You're -- you're Poe Dameron, the rebel hero."

He meant it. He did. Ever since he had seen the defiant pilot on Jakku, he knew: This was someone who was never afraid. This was someone who spat in the face of monsters and said-- _Never_.

Some days, he didn't know why Poe bothered with him. Finn the ex-stormtrooper. Finn the naive newcomer who didn’t know what it was like to have a family, to eat good food, to tie a tie, to have a sense of self beyond being a soldier _._

Poe had everything. Poe was everything. He shouldn't be looking at Finn like this.

Softly, Poe said, "The Resistance will win this war. Maybe not this battle, but _you'll_ win this war. You're Finn, the rebel hero." 

Finn closed his eyes. He could still see Poe behind his eyelids. Angled away from the X-wing’s holotransmitter, Poe touched the ring hanging from his neck underneath his flightsuit, mouthing Finn's name--

Think, Finn told himself. Think, FN-2187. This is what you were trained for. This is what you were made for.

Orish. The history of Orish. The Empire had enslaved the Orishens and forced them to work on their own planet. Strippped their home of its natural resources. The Orishens had created a bomb of pesticide and fertilizer and blew the Imperials up, even though that meant poisoning their world.

Finn’s eyes snapped open. He said, “I’ll talk to you later,” and ended the holocall.

“There's something I need to tell General Hux,” he told Leia. “Patch me through to the _Finalizer_. Please, General."

She looked at him, her gaze leaden, intense. Then, she nodded and signaled Connix, who tapped on glowing keys.

Hux’s form materialized in front of Finn. “FN-2187. What a pleasure to see you again. I take it you wish to beg for mercy on behalf of your doomed rebel friends and surrender? Or am I too optimistic?” 

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s cut the chatter. I’ve got a message for you. We’re blowing everything up.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Do I really have to run through the whole history lesson? During the Galactic Civil War, the Orishens planted explosives to pollute their own world and drive out the Empire. It’s an active minefield down there -- it’s a ticking time bomb of volatile residue. All those chemicals have soaked through the atmosphere and soil for years, building and building through the hydrologic cycle… You get the picture.

“We’re going to blow it up. We’re going to aim _all_ our proton torpedoes and ion cannons at the surface of Orish. I can’t tell you the exact reaction it will produce, but I’m pretty sure it’ll be explosive for everyone.” 

Hux took a step forward, as if he could advance through the holo. “You’re bluffing.” 

“Am I?” Finn challenged. “It would take too long for you to run a toxicity scan of Orish to confirm what I’m saying, sure -- but, trust me, the Orishens have been monitoring their own planet for a while. Once they realized that this battle wasn't looking so great, they sent us the data and gave us some tips. They know a little thing or two about sacrifice. You’re in the blast radius, General.” 

“You wouldn’t risk it,” Hux said, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “You wouldn’t throw away the lives of your own people and the Orishens. You think of yourselves as saviors of the galaxy. That’s genocide, the murder of thousands. You wouldn’t.”

“Yes, we would,” Finn said. “We’re the motherkriffing rebellion. We’re the horror stories that both you and I grew up hearing about in your daddy’s training program. We’re as ruthless as Saw Gerrera and his terrorists who took insurgency tactics to a new level. We’re as vicious as the Wookiees who tore Imperial officers limb from limb once they retook Kashyyyk. You think we wouldn’t do anything to take you out if we had the means? Vice Admiral Holdo’s maneuver isn’t old news.” 

“Your precious princess wouldn’t dare authorize this--”

“You’re not dealing with Leia. You’re dealing with _me._ I wasn’t raised by peace-loving diplomats, Hux. You know exactly what raised me.” 

Silence. Then: “Congratulations, FN-2187. Captain Phasma would’ve been proud.” 

The comm clicked off. Finn checked the screens in front of him. The blips that represented the First Order ships flickered and disappeared. 

He was shaking. Steadying himself, he sent a broadcast across the Resistance channels. “Start evac of the Orishens. Get out as fast as you can. May the Force be with you.” 

From beside him, Connix said, stunned, “The First Order bought it. They bought your bluff.” 

“Yeah,” Finn said. “They did.” 

Leia put her hand on his shoulder. “Well-played, Commander.” 

For once, Finn didn’t correct her about his rank. He felt weary, drained.

When Poe came back to base, Finn was surprised that Poe looked him in the eye -- that Poe swept him in a hug, like this was a typical ‘thank the stars you’re alive’ reunion -- and Poe whispered into his ear: “I knew you could do it, Finn. I knew it.” 

Finn collapsed into the embrace, feeling tears prick his eyes, and then he couldn’t fight it, he shook and shook with a surge of muffled sobs, making the back of Poe’s flightsuit soaked and soppy.

Poe didn’t seem to mind. He pulled back, touched Finn’s face with his hands, wiping the wetness on his cheeks as he sniffled. “Hey. No crying. You saved the day.” 

Finn huffed a laugh. “You’re crying, too, you maniac pilot."

* * *

_Who are you?_

FN-2187. Finn. I’m a soldier, a rebel, and a holochess player. Masked and unmasked; armored and bare. Blaster blazing, lightsaber-wielding, Force-touched. 

In the vast reaches of space, I’ve seen bright suns blotted out by Star Destroyers and TIEs. But more powerful than the encroaching darkness, I’ve seen hope in the eyes of my friends, my general, and even my enemies -- after all, they made me to dethrone tyrants. 

Whatever you are, you’re going to work with me, so I can do what I was made for. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrapping up plot things... Just one more chapter to go.

A gradual awareness of consciousness. The walls around him were white, white, the infirmary of the garrison. FN-2187 registered voices around him. 

“He’s the only one left?”

“The only one. The viper droids found him outside the temple in the clearing behind it… burned to the ground.”

“So he escaped Lehon’s beast. What of UV-8855?”

“FN-2187 heard that you made a request to GF-2383 and EX-5363 and he decided to carry out the deed himself. That’s what he informed me before he keeled over. I believe her remains are somewhere in the ashes -- I spotted scraps of her cadet uniform. Alongside that gift of yours you told me to provide.”

“Interesting.”

“Why that young cadet in particular?”

“She’s a relic of the past. It’s not your job to ask questions. You’re a test administrator, Commander BZ-2621.” 

“It’s rumored that you didn’t join the Order alone. She knew your face, Phasma. A relic of _your_ past.” 

“Who are you to speak of relics? You’re another one of Counselor Rax’s proteges, aren’t you? If Cardinal is any indication of Jakku’s best and brightest--”

“CD-0922 is a soft fool. When I commed him regarding this test’s casualty rates… he told me that he wouldn’t be nominating any more of his cadets in the near future and he recommended pulling from new recruits instead. He said it was a waste of trained talent. It’s a pity.” 

“Cardinal has always been overly attached. However, this FN-2187 seems like he has potential. A survivor.”

“He’s an ideal candidate for the 709th Legion.”

“No. Send him back to the _Absolution_. He’ll graduate with the rest of his unit on schedule. I want to keep an eye on this one and train him as usual.”

“Very well, Captain.” 

“And initiate a partial wipe -- let’s say, forty-eight hours?”

“Ah. In the event UV-8855 might’ve been talkative before her demise.”

“I have no time for baseless speculation. Get it done.” 

“Yes, Captain.” 

And FN-2187 forgot. Just like that. Like his memories were stars at the mercy of entropy, like he was a blade to be dulled at inconvenient edges. He woke up in the _Absolution_ alone. Pixel’s bunk was empty underneath him, and it hurt to try to think of her, his head an aching blur.

The official records stated that she perished in a training accident. Cadets disappeared all the time -- including that girl they had met during Brendol Hux’s funeral service -- and FN-2187 hoped nothing too terrible had happened to either of them. 

(But why? Why couldn’t he remember?)

Nines, Slip, and Zeroes occasionally brought up Pixel, but eventually the mentions petered out as if she had never been. Cardinal never said a word, and FN-2187 found himself uneasily doing the same. They had been preparing for this all their lives, hadn’t they? They were soldiers.

(Maybe there was something in him that whispered later: _Not again_ , as Slip’s bloodied hand trailed down his helmet.)

Soon, it was time for the FN batch to move onto the next phase of their training onboard the _Finalizer._ Captain Phasma greeted them, gleaming silver, black cape billowing behind her.

He had forgotten.

Until now.

* * *

The blood soaking through Meva Tanzer’s cadet uniform was sticky scarlet red. Fighting nausea, Yama swabbed bacta across the gash on Meva’s skin, coating it with the viscous substance, before wrapping her stomach with a bandage.

She repeated the process for Meva’s leg. Meva hissed in pain, but she let Yama tend to her without complaint. When Yama finished, Meva carded her fingers through her blonde braided hair, breathing in and out, as if to calm herself.

Yama said, “You’re from Alderaan, aren’t you?” She had seen General Organa’s hair too many times to count. In fact, the general’s hairstyle had started a bit of a trend among many long-haired Resistance members. Yama wore her hair like that, too, sometimes.

“The Alderaanian Station,” Meva said. “There’s no Alderaan anymore.”

Yama had studied the subject in school. After the Death Star had destroyed the planet, off-planet Alderaanians and diasporic Alderaanians had joined forces to create a station partly made from the ruins of the superweapon itself. The station drifted from system to system, an evermoving remnant of a place long-gone.

“You’re probably wondering why I’m here, aren’t you,” Meva murmured. “It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got some time,” Yama said. She had already sent out the SOS message to Nasz, and now, with Meva’s injuries cared for, she was working on reprogramming two viper droids that she’d slashed out of the air with Meva’s vibro-sword moments earlier. Hopefully Pacer would be able to hold out long enough against the monster that had been Roben Pell. As her fingers pulled at wires, she said, “It’s alright. I’m a good listener, and I have to monitor your wounds in case I need to reapply more bacta or change the dressings.”

The other girl looked out at her, her eyes an unblinking blue, then nodded. “Princess Leia -- Organa -- leads the Resistance. But she doesn’t represent all of us. There’s nothing wrong in wanting order.”

“Some might say that the First Order is the Empire brought back. What they did to the Hosnian system is history repeating again. The same evil that targeted Alderaan.” Yama kept her tone as noncommittal as possible. 

“The Hosnian system was host to the New Republic, the rot inflicted upon the galaxy,” Meva said, her eyes hard. “Dente, I’ve lived on a floating space station all my life. The greatest threats to our existence weren't old Imperials. It was pirates. The Republic’s navy was a complete joke, and a large chunk of politicians were accepting bribes from criminal syndicates and cartels. Don’t talk to me about evil, because I know evil, and they’re _pirates._

“The First Order promises to stop all of that. No more criminals running rampant. No more corruption. Instead of empty words, they have fleets to back up that promise.

“As for Alderaan… it’s a tragedy. I’ve been surrounded by that tragedy my entire life. But I don’t think it’s as straightforward as the history texts make it out to be. It shocked us when the news broke out that Organa is Darth Vader’s daughter. Who’s to say she didn’t collaborate with the Empire in some way? Maybe she offered them Alderaan on a platter. Maybe she didn’t care about it, in the end. No matter what Senator Verlaine says, I don’t think Organa’s a paragon of justice.

“It’s not good guys versus bad guys. There’s some ex-Imperials in the First Order, while the ‘Resistance’ has Organa and their own ex-Imperials. I told you my great-grandmother was from Vardos, and she knew Garrick Versio. The rebels have their own Inferno Squad… 

“It’s a war. It’s horrible on both sides, but I want to pick the side that’ll give us peace. The galaxy tried Organa’s way and the Republic’s way, and that didn’t go right. I’m choosing order.” 

That was some next level conspiracy nonsense, Yama thought. The First Order was worse. Magnitudes worse. They put people in charge who were cruel and sadistic, while the Resistance was full of sappy idealists at heart.

Yet maybe she could slightly understand that perspective. For all that she was Yama’s savior, Teza Nasz _was_ dangerous, wearing vibro-weapons like Yama wore ribbons in her hair. Pacer was justified to despise Nasz, even if it was counterproductive to their mission. And for all that Zay Versio spoke fondly and sadly of her mother… Iden Versio likely did her fair share of terrible things in the name of the Emperor.

And Yama often worked with Peekpa, one of the Resistance’s best slicers. Peekpa once consulted her now-retired mentor Conder Kyl for a tricky technical issue. Kyl’s husband had waltzed into the holo-call, balancing a tray of drinks. Nasz, on-base at the time, had made a noise of recognition, and explained: “Ah. Ex-loyalty officer Rath Velus. A professional torturer who broke the fingers of Imperials who strayed.” In response, Kyl’s husband had grinned, dagger-sharp: “That was a long time ago, carrot-top. I’m a professional alcoholic right now, and all I’m breaking are shot glasses.” (Sinjir Rath Velus wasn’t _quite_ retired. His political connections had come in handy for amassing material aid for the Resistance.) 

But weren’t they all dangerous, ex-Imperial or otherwise? They had to be.

Yama said, fiercely, “You can’t think like that. The First Order hires spacers to raid civilian vessels, planets, and moons. They fund and arm pirates and pretend to ‘rescue’ people and take over, when it’s their fault in the first place. They don’t promote peace -- that’s an illusion. It’s a First Order adage that’s right in the handbook: If the situation requires a deathsnake rather than a kleex, cast off your shell and sink in your teeth _._ ”

Meva froze, her fingers half-tangled in her hair. “You sound like--”

“A rebel?” Yama said. “I know. Meva, you should come with us. My friend Vi mans our outpost on Batuu, where we send new recruits. You should talk with her, because she helped me realize that everything here, everything that has to do with the First Order, it’s _wrong_.”

* * *

Yama had seen holos of dancers doing the margengai-glide. It was a complicated dance step, featuring a turn--a shuffle--a contortion of limbs that hinted toward the move’s origins -- namely, it wasn’t intended to be performed by two-legged, two-armed species. The galaxy being what it was, differently-limbed beings weren’t deterred.

When Teza Nasz fought, it looked like that _._ She moved like no human should move, brutal smooth and blade bright, and she was unflinching in the face of Pell’s exhaled fire.

She was strategic with the furious slashes of her vibro-ax--and Yama, realizing exactly what Nasz was doing, reinforced every nick and cut, directing the reprogrammed viper droids’ jets of blaster beams--and soon, the mutated monster sank into soil and bellowed. The boy flashed in his eyes again, and he said, hoarse, “What has she done to me? I was strong.” 

“Sorry, Pell,” Yama said, “we’re sorry.” 

She closed her eyes as she heard the humming cleave of Nasz’s vibro-ax.

She exhaled, and went to help Pacer. He was grimy, bleeding, near-burnt, cradling the gizka in his arms.

“Not a second too late,” Pacer said, accepting Yama’s proffered bacta patches. “She’s -- she’s like a kriffing _gravity well._ ”

“A force of nature is an apt comparison,” said a voice. “Those marks on your arm, Tezuna -- if that’s your name -- you were a SCAR trooper of the Empire. The predecessors to the 709th.” 

Malarus. Her gold hair rippled in the wind, and her black-eaten eye shimmered in the evening light. Rakata Prime’s larger moon was at her back, framing her, as if the mottled rock was balanced on her shoulders.

Nasz dipped her head, her red hair fluttering. The ax in her hand buzzed with burning energy. “I was. Before I became an officer, I served in a SCAR squad. The dream of every low-level stormtrooper. The nightmare of every rebel.”

“And you’re a rebel now,” Malarus said. Meza Tanzer stepped out from behind a tree, and she met Yama’s gaze evenly. “This girl commed me and confirmed my initial suspicions. I suppose it’s too much work to wait for Lehon’s beast to finish you all off. Let’s do this the conventional way, shall we?”

From the woods, stormtroopers and security droids came into view, rows of white. 

“Hurry up,” Yama spoke into her comlink. “ _Hurry up._ ”

Twirling a riot control baton, Malarus lunged at Nasz. Yama issued the viper droids a new directive--to hold off the stormtroopers and security droids -- her hands like a conductor’s as she signaled formation patterns.

* * *

“I don’t understand why someone like you would join the Resistance,” Malarus said, while their blades crashed, reeking sparks. “A SCAR trooper has no place among weak fools.” 

Teza laughed in a reverberating rattle. “The Empire was weak, Malarus, as is your First Order. It’s a senseless chase of glory and dominion, and there’s no honor and no victory in that. All I won was blood and fire and nothing else.”

There was a boy who would do anything to kill her. There was a girl who thought her a hero. And there was her commander, who was born into this order of Imperial imposters, would-be conquerors, and clumsy iron fists.

She had welcomed the darkness willingly. She thought it would be the fulfillment she craved.

Yet the truth was this -- unlike Finn, she knew what it was like to live outside darkness. She knew open skies and free minds and told herself: _I will become the darkness_ , not _I am always the darkness and always shall be._

Maybe she would never be truly free of it. But she could wield it like a bludgeon, knowing what it was, the shape and horror of it, and she could _protect._

* * *

Riding a kyber crystal dragon was nothing like riding a fathier.

“Rose is going to be _so_ jealous,” Finn said.

Karr said, from below him on the ground, “If you lose control--”

“I won’t. No guarantee, but I think I got this.” 

“For Rur’s sake. I’ve touched hundreds of artifacts and mystical objects, and I feel like the only logical conclusion throughout history is that the Jedi are inherently karking crazy. Is that Jedi Resistance girl as crazy as you are?” 

“Crazier. And I’m not a Jedi. Aren’t you a Jedi?” 

“Kind of. Not exactly. Long story. Just -- go.” 

It was like that long-ago training session in the sim room, perched atop a makeshift platform and relying on the whims of gravity. 

Sometimes all you have to do is fall. 

* * *

Imagine this -- at the foot of a temple, a battlefield. Two women in black locked in raging combat. A boy and a girl fighting back to back, the former with a vibro-lance and the latter with a vibro-sword, repulsing stormtroopers and security droids. Viper droids swarmed and strafed searing lasers. 

And bursting into the scene, a crystal monstrosity, its eyes beaming blue.

“Hey, Yama, Pacer -- move out of the way for a minute, will you?”

It breathed cerulean fire, sweeping away the stormtroopers and security droids. Finn patted the dragon, landed, and slid off its back. He felt… woozy, and he wasn’t sure if he could control it for very long. The dragon fell dormant, a lifeless statue once again.

He had made his point, though.

Finn picked up one of the stormtrooper’s discarded blaster rifles. “Malarus, I heard you were looking for a perfect soldier. Here’s your perfect soldier.” And he fired.

It was a well-aimed shot. It was synchronized just as Nasz brought her vibro-ax down across Malarus’ back, the officer distracted by the conflagration. 

“You killed the commander!” Raynshi was standing outside the temple with Karr at her side, gaping at the destruction.

“Still alive,” Nasz corrected. “That enhancement drug of yours, I presume?”

Malarus didn’t answer, only hacked out a cough. Blood spewed from her lips--the veins at her temples bulged--and both her eyes swam in black. 

“Maize,” Karr said. “Please come back with us. You don’t belong here. We’re still -- friends. No matter what. It’s right here on your face.” He brushed his thumb against the tattoos on her forehead, and for a moment, Raynshi let him--

Before shaking him off. “Karr, I can’t turn my back on all of this. I’ve moved planet to planet my entire life because of my dad’s work. My work. There’s no real home for me to go back to. The First Order _is_ my home.” 

“I’m sorry about your mom and dad,” Karr said, his voice pained. “I am. But you do have a home. You can come with me. Traveling and chasing after history, like how we did when we were kids.”

Finn stepped in and added, “There’s a place for you within the Resistance, too, if you want to do intelligence work for a good cause. The people in charge, they’re not like Malarus. We don’t care if you’re green or purple or you have five legs -- or if you used to be First Order. _They’re_ my home. I wasn’t lying when I said I used to be a stormtrooper. I was FN-2187. Finn, now.” 

And Malarus, from her position prone on the ground, coughed again, but it was discordant laughter. “FN-2187? You’re the traitor who was responsible for the destruction of Starkiller Base.” 

Raynshi reeled backwards. “ _You_ helped destroy Starkiller?” She looked at him and seemed to find confirmation in his eyes. “My -- my dad was there. He was supposed to receive a commendation from General Hux around the time the base unveiled, because it was _his_ work that protected the base and kept it a secret, so it wouldn’t be sabotaged by spies or traitors… He was with my mom, and they weren’t able to get out in time.”

Oh. 

“I used to work there,” Finn said. “Some troopers I knew probably went down, too. Raynshi, I’m sorry, but -- Starkiller had to be taken out after the cataclysm.” And he had to save Rey, captured by Kylo Ren at the time, and he was _relieved_ that the First Order wasn’t able to use the base to annihilate more planets. 

“Maize, it was a superweapon,” Karr said, incredulous. “Starkiller killed millions of people. It’s an abomination.” 

“The Hosnian system was the center of the New Republic. It had to be abolished.”

“Don’t spew their propaganda,” Karr said. “Don’t. They tested that thing on the Dassal system. Far away in the Unknown Regions, the center of _nothing_. I visited one of the planets-- Tehar -- to study an ancient temple dedicated to the Force. Innocent people were slaughtered; the planets were cored out. I returned too late, but _I saw it._ Don’t say you want to be a part of this.”

“You think I don’t know about the Dassal system?” she said. “I’m in the First Order Security Bureau. Of course I know about it. I don’t have any authority over those decisions, but it makes sense that testing was needed to ensure that it was functional.”

Karr said, “What happened to you?”

“I grew up. I can’t run away with you anymore, wizard boy,” she said, with a sad smile on her face. “I won’t go with you, and I won’t go with the people who killed my parents, either. Besides, our first adventure wasn’t a cozy vacation. Stormtroopers dragged me back, while you went on your merry way. There’s no other way for this to end.” 

She turned. Then, addressing Finn, she said, enigmatic, “You really are one of Cardinal’s,” and retreated into the temple.

What the hell was that supposed to mean? 

Karr started to go after her, but Finn put his hand on his shoulder. “Look, I’m sorry about your friend. We can follow her later. Bring her back to base in binders if we have to. Let’s deal with Malarus first.”

Malarus was shaking -- cackling. “Poor boy. You can’t get the mongrel to love you.” 

“Shut up.” 

Suddenly, she choked, her body spasming. 

Finn grabbed Karr by the shoulders. “Karr, she’s already dying! Quit it.” 

“Shit,” Karr said. “I’ve never been able to do that before. Sorry.” 

She gasped and sputtered. Breathed, and she laughed again. “Rebel scum. You think you’ve won, but you haven’t. After Tanzer contacted me, I had all the data in the tower purged and the hangar locked to my biometrics. You won’t get the FOSB information you need, and you’re stuck here.” 

Finn said, “What d’you mean? We’ve already stolen it.”

Because the universe had a marvelous sense of timing, that was the moment when the _Nightstrike_ soared across the treetops, blasting Herglic rage-metal music. In the pilot’s seat, RZ-7 waved a clawed metal hand. 

Karr waved back. “There’s our ride.” 

“How--?” 

“We didn’t need to steal Raynshi’s datapad,” Finn said. “All Karr had to do was touch the keypad after she entered the new code in the morning, and he got the combination.”

“The wonders of Force psychometry,” Karr said. “When I’m not fainting all the time.” 

Finn said, “He sent the code to Arzee, pretended to snoop in Raynshi’s office, and while everyone was busy chasing him and all your trial nonsense, Arzee snuck in, downloaded the data, and then got our ship out.” 

The plan wouldn’t have worked if Finn hadn’t probed Karr about his Force abilities and formulated a plan around it. During his holo-call with Rey, Rey told him that Luke Skywalker’s book collection included journals by someone called Ben Kenobi. Kenobi had written about a Jedi named Quinlan Vos, who had similar powers. 

“Arzee stole it right before a lockdown could be initiated,” Finn said, raising his chin upward. “Right under your nose.” It was a lesson he had learned from BB-8: don’t underestimate a droid. 

“Hmph. Locked to your biometrics?” Nasz repeated. “You think I wouldn’t have torn out those eyes of yours and held them up to a scanner?” 

Okay, that was gross. 

“My _voice_ , you ax-flailing she-devil.” 

“Perhaps I could have played mad scientist god like you, Malarus. I could’ve ripped out your larynx and grafted it into that boy’s pet reptile and made it croak. I’d only need Ravel’s sewing kit.” 

Karr made a noise of disgust. “I don’t need traumatic memories associated with my tools, thanks.”

Pacer said, “I will actually kill you if you mutilate Meyu.”

“Take it down a notch, everyone,” Finn said, sighing. “You lost, Malarus. You won’t be administering any more tests in the near future. I’m starting to remember that… I was here as a cadet. When that previous officer ran this garrison. I was on the nasty end of a brainscrape.” 

Yama asked, “Wait, you were? You passed?”

“I passed,” Finn said. The memories were slow, uncertain, but he could feel them realigning back in his head like the pieces of a puzzle. “It -- it didn’t have the happiest of endings. But I’m a rebel. Always have been.” 

“Was there any doubt?” Nasz said rhetorically.

“He knocked out two stormtrooper units with a dragon,” Pacer said, with a whistle. The creature in his arms -- Meyu? -- copied the sound with a burble. “Wish I could’ve gotten a turn, Commander.” 

“You’re better off sticking with ships,” Karr said. Finn knew that he was thinking of how he had choked Malarus. 

The Force. Finn wasn’t going to think about it too hard right now.

“Where was I?” Finn said, making himself continue on. “Last part of the plan. You transmitted the location of Batuu to your superiors after you heard it from Tanzer, right? A recruitment ‘slip-up’ on Yama’s part.” 

“Vi’s going to kill you,” Yama said, matter-of-fact. “I’d really hoped that Meva would’ve agreed to join us, you know.” 

Malarus muttered, “A trap--?” 

“Sounds like she did,” Nasz said, her voice a rumble.

Finn crossed his arms. “Batuu’s already compromised. A First Order unit scouted around, got wiped out thanks to Vi and her crew, but it’s still on the Order’s radar and you guys will figure out that it wasn’t a fluke. I sped up the timeline a bit and let our outpost know you’re coming.

“I know the First Order. After recent losses -- Tevel, Minfar, Orish, Kashyyyk, Milvayne, and I’m guessing Lerct soon -- you desperately want a win. You’ll try to force an occupation and probably throw a Star Destroyer at the Batuu problem.

“That’s where the FOSB data comes in. Not only will we know where the Star Destroyer is headed and catch it in time -- we’ll have up-to-date schematics, access codes, crew lists and manifests, enough information to board and pull off a successful infiltration.”

“That’s insane,” Malarus said, faintly. “You’re giving up one of your own bases in hope of dealing a blow to us.” 

Better off wounded than dead. Cut off the limbs of a Rathtar to preserve its head.

Nevertheless, Finn intended to do whatever it took to keep as many limbs as possible and staunch the bleeding. Besides, they were the Resistance, and they operated on hope.

“I have faith in Vi Moradi,” Finn said. “If back-up’s needed, I trust our Resistance fleet. And I have faith in my team.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! Also, heads-up that I wrote a [Director's Commentary](https://kyrilu.tumblr.com/post/616395822907719680/team-firebird-chapter-6-directors-commentary/mobile) thing for Chapter 6.
> 
> Regarding the team name -- [see this meta post](https://kyrilu.tumblr.com/post/190938162959/so-in-the-star-wars-novel-black-spire-by-delilah).
> 
> honestly, I'm glad to have gotten this story out, though lol I think I'm all Finn/Poe'd out. I think I'm going to swan off and stick to my Star Wars comics pairings now.
> 
> Thank you for everyone who's been following along -- I appreciate you!

“This test is fragging rigged.” Pixel launched into a stream of swears that she must have learned from gaming over the HoloNet. 

An AT-AT. Somebody in charge had given GF-2383 and EX-5363 an _AT-AT_. 

Inside the temple, the three of them had found dusty starships that must have been built by ancient Rakatans. FN-2187 and UV-8855 were in one ship; Pixel was in the other, and it was a miracle they had been able to get them up in the air and outside the temple. 

But they had to, because a large crystal dragon statue had come to life, and it was charging at them, spitting out fire. 

They were fighting on multiple fronts: the dragon and the walker. It mostly involved dodging, the round long-winged ships spinning to avoid cannonfire and the monster.

UV-8855 was at the controls of her and FN-2187’s ship -- though younger than FN-2187, she’d been exposed to more flight sims, a recent curriculum change that he and his unit missed the implementation of. Meanwhile, Pixel, who was always good with tech, took to her Rakatan ship like breathing -- “Just like Blaster Fight III,” she remarked.

“Have you figured out the offensive capabilities on this thing?” FN-2187 asked Pixel through his handheld comlink. They still hadn’t worked out how the ship comms worked, or even if it had any. 

“Think it’s the screen on the left,” Pixel said. “Not the one on the right, that’s the nav computer. Let me see--” Her ship careened, and it shot a volley of red at the attacking dragon, narrowly missing. “Okay, the symbol that looks like an upside down tree means lasers. The targeting computer is pretty intuitive.”

“Screen on the left,” FN-2187 muttered. A touch on the screen brought it to life. “Got it. Fifty-Five, get us into position directly above the AT-AT.”

UV-8855 thrust forward the throttle. “I almost forgot to tell you two my nickname.”

After touching the symbol, the screen lit up, a grid, and FN-2187 squinted as the ship weaved up and down, not yet aligning. Almost there. 

The ship made a sudden swerve in between the AT-AT’s legs, barreling upward in a dizzying arc -- Rakata Prime’s larger moon suddenly sprang into view through the cockpit -- and UV-8855 let out a caterwauling howl. 

“Ow,” Pixel said, through the comms. 

“Warcry,” she said. “That’s what my unit calls me.” 

FN-2187 grinned--they were perfectly positioned, even if practically upside down--and he fired blaster streams that exploded against the durasteel surface. “I can see why they call you that. Took out one of the cannons. Let’s do the next one.” 

“Oh, by the oracle,” Warcry said. “Dragon.” The dragon had leapt on top of the AT-AT, and now it _tackled_ , claws raking against their ship’s side.

“Get---off!” Warcry yelled. She spun the controls, and the ship pirouetted wildly, unsteadily. FN-2187 was glad that the ancient Rakatan seats had seatbelts and he’d only eaten a single ration bar today--

FN-2187 tried the lasers. The dragon was positioned in a way that kept it out of the line of fire, and anyways, the ship’s movement messed with his aim.

Pixel’s ship swooped over, raining down red. A missile fired and almost collided into the port wing. 

“Pix!” 

“Oops. Didn’t know that was the missile button.” The sound of clicking dials. “Try putting up your shields. It’s the blue one above the nav computer.” 

Plasma red ballooned around the ship--and the force of it shook the dragon off, tumbling back against the walker and roaring.

“Finally,” Warcry sighed. 

“Don’t celebrate yet,” FN-2187 warned. 

The AT-AT advanced toward them. Its cannon discharged, and their shields shimmered on impact. Thankfully, it held, and Warcry, her face a determined frown, sent the ship wheeling and gyrating.

Abruptly, the ship stopped swiveling, and it floated midair, immobile. The lasers began pummeling the shields again. 

“What happened?” FN-2187 asked. 

“Dunno,” Warcry said, jerking futilely at the controls. “It’s not moving.”

The targeting computer wasn’t working, either. “Any idea, Pixel?” 

“It’s an old ship, and I’m guessing Warcry’s ballet and/or the dragon’s handiwork might’ve screwed with the stabilizers and made everything freeze,” she replied. “That’s not great. I’ll cover you. Keep fiddling and maybe it’ll come back online.”

FN-2187 felt like a sitting mynock as Pixel continued the battle alone. She fought smart: she concentrated on weakening the AT-AT’s joints -- she diverted the dragon into attacking the walker instead of her-- 

And as the dragon busied itself tearing into the walker’s framework with its claws and teeth and fire, Pixel fired a missile that shattered one of the dragon’s wings, sending it plummeting onto the grassy ground.

That single moment of distraction for Pixel was enough for the AT-AT to return its attention back to FN-2187 and Warcry’s unprotected ship. The shields gave way, plasma bursting-- Warcry desperately wriggled the controls, and FN-2187 closed his eyes--

“ _Eight-Seven!_ ” 

Pixel’s ship blocked it. But her shields had been weakened, too, and one more spatter of scarlet, she went down, the ship blazing and crashing onto the world below.

“Pixel!” FN-2187 said. “ _Pixel._ ” 

Static on the other end of the comms. 

And at that moment, their ship flared back to life, the keys lighting up again and unfreezing. Warcry said, “Yes!” and she pivoted the ship out of the walker’s cannon-range.

“Get me down to Pixel,” FN-2187 said. “After you drop me off, keep the walker busy. You can do it, Warcry.” 

Warcry blinked, and nodded. “Of course. You have bacta and stims in your pack. She’ll--she’ll be fine.” 

She landed behind a large boulder that provided cover from the AT-AT. FN-2187 rushed out of the ship--Warcry took to the skies again--and he darted toward the wreckage. There was so much fire. 

He found her. She was lying in the charred wreckage of the cockpit. The transparisteel viewport had collapsed on top of her.

“Pixel, I--” FN-2187 said. “I knew--you’d be alive.”

“Barely.” Her breath was a labored wheeze.

He tried to drag her out, but the wreck was too heavy, too heated. The durasteel burned his palms, and he struggled underneath the weight of it. “I’m gonna get you out of here, Pix. I can get you out of here.” 

“‘S’okay,” she said, blinking her blue eyes at him. “Help that little kid. Phasma really wants that girl dead.” She coughed. “She gave them a _walker_. I don’t think she’s gonna stop. You have to fly outta here.”

FN-2187 gaped. “You mean--”

“Leave. Defect. Desert. Whatever you want to call it.” Pixel let out a weak laugh. “Eight-Seven. You’re not dumb. You know that something kriffed-up is going on here.”

“If we tell Cardinal, he’ll listen. Brendol Hux was his mentor, and he likes us. We’re his students.” 

“You know as well as I do that won’t be enough,” Pixel said, softly. “The Order doesn’t care about us, Eight-Seven. Don’t tell me you’re not afraid every day that Slip will be the next cadet to disappear. I always see you looking at the scoreboard.”

She was right. Sometimes cadets did disappear. The ones at the bottom of their batches; the ones who didn’t do well in sims and weren’t as strong or fast or smart enough. FN-2187 often thought that maybe they were reassigned to other units, doing work that better suited them. Or maybe they were sent back to their families to do whatever regular kids were supposed to do.

That was wishful thinking, wasn’t it? The First Order -- they weren’t the good guys of his comics who saved planets from peril. They were the bad guys who would do anything for power and didn’t care about killing innocents. That vision of power didn’t involve kids like Warcry who knew too much and threatened an officer’s status -- it didn’t involve kids like Slip who tried to be soldiers as hard as they could but they couldn’t make the cut, so one day, they’d die at the hands of a more competent enemy or the very organization that had stolen them and raised them.

 _My entire clan is gone,_ Warcry had said. _The First Order came to Parnassos, and Phasma wanted to join them. My father tried to stop her. Everyone, fighting and dying, because that man had come down from the sky and made all these promises._

FN-2187 took Pixel’s hand into his. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m--I’m scared. I’m always scared. And I’m always trying to be the best, because I want it all to be true. All those things they tell us.”

Camaraderie. Order. Justice. Peace. FN-2187 didn’t have a family, but couldn’t he have this? Couldn’t he have this legacy that was entrusted to him ever since he was a little boy? Wasn’t that what his number meant, that he was a cog in the machine for greatness, and it was an _honor_ that he wasn’t called a nickname? 

If it was such an honor to serve the First Order, then why was Pixel dying in front of him? 

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” Pixel said. “Me and my stupid little slicing tricks… I’ve been showing you and the others the galaxy. We’ve read it. Seen it. We didn’t grow up like normal kids. Cardinal and the other officers say that every time, but they left out the most important part. Those normal kids are happy. They have a future that isn’t battlefields and body bags.

“I could’ve been really something. Best hologamer in the galaxy. Best droid designer and racer mechanic.”

“Biggest ego,” FN-2187 said, fighting down a lump in his throat. She was wrong, though. She already _was_ really something. 

“That, too,” she said, smiling. “Go save Warcry, Eight-Seven. The First Order isn’t made up of comic book heroes, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be one yourself. Whatever happens, don’t forget that we’re troopers-in-arms. You’re my brother, and I love you.” 

“Yeah,” he said. “You’re my sister, Pix. Me, too.” He sat with her until her breath stopped. He let go of her hand, tears on his face and heart aching. 

There was a song in his head, and he listened to it.

FN-2187 walked toward the fallen crystal dragon. He touched it, and it woke, its eyes glowing blue. The broken crystal wing on its back reformed, like it had never been fragmented in the first place.

He mounted its back, scrabbling to hold on. Together, they flew, the dragon bellowing, sending gusts of flame at the walker, veering it away from Warcry’s ship.

He took out his comlink. “Warcry. You have to go.”

“What? Is Pixel--?”

“Gone,” he said, hollowly.

“I’m sorry. It’s my fault.” 

“Don’t,” he told her. “You need to take off your outer uniform and drop it out of the airlock. Then, you need to run and hide. Anywhere. Jump into hyperspace and head somewhere where Phasma and the Order can never find you.” 

A beat. “You’re coming with me, aren’t you?” 

“I can’t. Me and my new dragon friend… we’ll blow up the AT-AT. He can’t do it by himself, since I have to help him focus the energy. I’ll say that you died in the explosion, or even better, that I killed you. As soon as the walker goes boom, _run._ ” It doubled as a safety measure, the heat signature masking the departing ship from the garrison’s scanners.

“But--”

“Don’t let Pixel’s death be for nothing.” 

Her voice was a whisper. “Okay. I’ll go. Thank you. I owe you my life, and one day, I’ll return the favor.” 

I’m sorry, Pixel, FN-2187 thought. You died thinking I would be free. But this is the right thing to do.

From the top of his head to the tips of his toes, he felt light thrill through him. 

It was time for fire.

* * *

Almost conversationally, Pacer said, “You lied, didn’t you? You don’t remember my brother. You told me what you thought I wanted to hear.” 

Pacer could hear his father’s voice echoing in his head: _Your brother was killed by a SCAR trooper. They made up the Empire’s most elite units, and they stormed a Rebel outpost that he and his division were protecting. I’ll never forget the look on Frell’s face--a Pathfinder friend of Genn’s-- when she holomessaged me. They couldn’t even identify the bodies._

“No,” Nasz said, “I don’t remember. There were too many. He could have died a warrior or he could have died a coward. What’s important is your own certainty that if you yourself ever fall, you will face death bravely, and that will be enough.” 

“Will it be from your ax?”

Malarus was lying dead at their feet. From her vibro-ax wound, red blood pooled against the green grass, though it was drying now. 

Nasz said, “That’s up to you.” 

“I’ll let you know about our duel when the war ends.”

Pacer craned his head upwards and looked at her face. It was still strange seeing her without the earthy streaks of paint she usually wore. He could see the hardened lines of her cheekbones, the sweat on her brow, the deep darkness of her eyes, the faint scars on her chin. He understood, then, why stormtroopers wore helmets, because she looked incredibly human. She looked like any other veteran who had survived the last war and chose to fight the next, aged and weary and resolute, like Wedge Antilles and Norra Wexley and Wesson Dove and Venisa Doza and Leia Organa.

She gave him a short nod.

“Oh, kark.” That was Finn, who suddenly whirled around toward the temple. A ship rocketed through the roof, roaring, smoke in its wake as it rose up toward the sunlit dim sky. “There was a Rakatan ship in there.” 

“Maize!” Ravel -- Nuq Sin -- whoever he was -- ran as if he could stop it. 

Pacer let out a scoffing noise and tapped his comlink. Rookies. “Arzee, chase after that ship and shoot it down.” 

“You can’t order around my droid, Agoyo!”

“I saw Meva go into the temple after Raynshi,” Yama said, quietly. “She’s onboard that ship, too, I think. We should let them go. For now.” 

Finn was silent, then he said, “You’re right. We have the data, and we have our TIE -- and there’s a high possibility that Raynshi’s calling for back-up any minute now. We need to get out of the system.”

Finally. Even though that meant that the First Order Security Bureau agent escaped, they were leaving this planet of hellish tests. Pacer found himself brightening, and he tightened his grip around Meyu and leaned toward the _Nightstrike_.

“Last one inside is a rotten mynock who won’t be piloting.” It was a TIE, but he was allowed to appreciate tech for what it was. 

Nasz growled. “Agoyo, we expressly agreed that we were rotating. You were in the co-pilot’s seat last time.” 

He laughed and sprinted inside the ship. 

* * *

Surprisingly, Pacer and Nasz were able to come to an accord. They were sitting in the two pilot seats, and they were absorbed in a conversation about the TIE’s ion engines as the _Nightstrike_ hurtled through hyperspace. RZ-7 had disappeared into the cargo hold with Karr, presumably to discuss what had happened with Maize Raynshi, the tailor-slash-sort-of-Jedi projecting dejection while the droid spoke in sympathetic tones. 

Finn sighed. This had been quite a mission, even though it only had been two days. Yama was sleeping in the passenger seat beside him, Meyu curled in her lap. He wanted to nap as well, but he had some holocalls to make.

“Finn, what in the spires did that droid mean when he said that the First Order’s coming _here_?” The holo image of Vi Moradi cropped up in front of him. She was a human, wearing a bright orange Resistance jacket, her hair dyed blue at its edges.

“I can explain,” Finn said, wincing.

“Please do.” 

“I gave up Batuu. But I have a plan.” He laid it all out.

She said, “That’s either the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard all day, or the smartest. And Zade was telling me this morning that he’s been skimming crates of ale from Oga’s Cantina so we can use it as an alternative fuel source.” 

“Is that even possible?” 

“Of course not. More like stocking up our base’s stash,” Vi said. “Some of our recruits can get rowdy. Earnest farm kids, y’know.” She waved her hand. “Alright, Finn. We’ll prepare our defenses and alert our local networks. Be aware that this won’t be pretty.” 

“I floated the idea past the general before we landed on Rakata Prime,” Finn admitted. “Using Batuu as a lure. She doesn’t like it much, either, but she gave me the go-ahead if the chance came up. So we get the jump on the Order and chip away at their fleet.”

“Every bit counts,” Vi agreed.

Another voice on the other end, a sharp low tone. “Vi, is that commander of yours finally explaining the purpose of that alarming message?”

Finn felt his heart jump in his chest. That was… “Captain!” he blurted. What the pfassk?

It was Captain Cardinal. He was emerging behind Vi, the same dark-eyed man that Finn had known since he was a young cadet. Cardinal wasn’t wearing armor, but the bronze shirt and dark pants of the Resistance, red vest shrugged over his chest.

“You’re the operative that Vi’s been working with,” Finn said, in realization. He had seen the name in several mission reports, a figure that had provided the Resistance with information about the First Order and was currently helping train recruits at Black Spire Outpost. “You’re Archex. I didn’t know.” 

“FN-2187,” Cardinal said, looking equally taken aback.

Vi raised her eyebrows. “You know each other?”

“I trained him. Eight-Seven was one of my best students.”

Finn said, “A First Order Security Bureau agent told me that you were dead.” 

“I suppose that’s the official story they’re circulating, so my students don’t find out that I defected and feel the urge to follow,” Cardinal said, raking a hand through his blue-black hair. “Truth be told, I did almost die.”

“Twice,” Vi cut in.

“Phasma?” Finn guessed. 

“Phasma,” Cardinal confirmed, his mouth a wry curve. “Vi dragged me off the _Absolution_ near-dead. Lieutenant Kath was the second time -- dispatched to Batuu to eliminate the Resistance presence -- but I managed to eject out of his ship before it exploded, and the team here picked me up.” Cardinal touched Vi on her shoulder in acknowledgement.

 _You really are one of Cardinal’s_ , Maize Raynshi had said in parting. She had known the reality behind the cover story.

“Captain,” Finn said, his head whirling, “I looked up to you when I was a kid. I don’t know what to think now, but you taught me a lot, and -- you were different from Phasma.” 

Phasma had scrutinized him and held him to strict standards. She didn’t approve of him looking out for Slip, and she seemed to demand greater and more terrible feats from him. And Finn had _tried_ , he really had, but buried in his heart and his mind, there was the truth that he had discovered on Rakata. Losing Pixel, the revelation of the First Order’s true face, Warcry’s story -- it was a rebellion that had been building up inside of him, the years before, the forgotten events during, the years after, and it took a push.

His first brush with combat and Slip’s death.

Cardinal said, his voice subdued, “When it comes down to it, I wasn’t much better than Phasma. I regret it. Dearly and deeply. Like Brendol Hux and Gallius Rax before me, I turned you children into weapons.” 

Finn blinked rapidly and watched the streaking continuum of hyperspace through the viewport. He made himself return Cardinal’s steady gaze. “You did. But you can’t undo it. I’m glad that I can use everything that you and the Order taught me and fight for the Resistance. The rookies are lucky to have you as their instructor, Captain.”

“They’ve been practicing trooper formations on crankbikes. Dolin leads them on his truffleboar. They’re impressive.” Cardinal offered him a tired smile. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, Eight-Seven. If we meet in person, you’re well within your rights to blast me on sight.” 

Finn thought back to the conversation on Ryloth, Poe standing up to Pacer Agoyo and Sanrec Stronghammer. Pacer, angered to see Nasz, the ex-Imperial who had killed his brother. Stronghammer, skeptical about Poe’s role in the loss of the fleet. 

In rebuttal, they had all stepped forward. Rebels speaking up about their backgrounds and their mistakes and their sins.

“This isn’t about forgiveness,” Finn said. “It’s about making the choice to be better, so we’ve moved on from where we started.” He added, “By the way, the name’s Finn now.”

“Finn,” Cardinal repeated. “Then please call me Archex, Finn. I’m sure you have quite a story to tell how you left the Order…”

“We can catch up another time. Things are about to get busy on Batuu. Vi will fill you and the others in on the details. Sorry -- I’ve got another holocall to make.” 

“Of course. Just remember -- I always did anticipate big things from you. It looks like you’ve found it, even though neither of us imagined that we would be on the other side.” 

* * *

“Finn! How’d it go?” 

“We got the data,” Finn said, grinning broadly. The friendly expression on Poe’s face through the holotransmitter projection was infectious. “And I guess I found out some things that I didn’t expect.” 

“Good things?”

“Some good. Some bad. Some I don’t even have the words for.” Finn shook his head. “But it went better than I thought it would. The jogan fruit won’t be getting fertilizer after all.” 

Poe pointed his finger at him. “Knew you could do it, Team Leader.” 

“I think I finally figured out a team name,” Finn said. “And we laid the groundwork for our next mission---I’ll send you the information in a second. The general still has to give the final go-ahead and iron out the finer details, but we need to be called something on the mission assignment.” 

Pacer broke off his conversation with Nasz. “You’re really volunteering us for another mission? What you said earlier about infiltrating a Star Destroyer?” 

“Why? You think we won’t be able to win this one, too?” 

“No way. Of course we will.”

“I would be interested,” Nasz said. “As much as I enjoy flying, I’ve missed hands-on, boots-on-the-ground action. I’ve been gratified to have the opportunity to go out in the field.” 

Yama, who had awoken several minutes ago to use the refresher then returned to the passenger seat, said, “Count me in. My memory and basic slicing knowledge can come in handy for more spywork, sir. And I want to do everything I can to help Vi and her chapter.”

“Us, too.” Karr strode into the cockpit from the hold, RZ-7 clunking from behind him. “We’re sticking around with the Resistance for now. Besides, I’ve been to Batuu before and I wouldn’t mind revisiting. There are several shops containing artifacts of historical note related to the Jedi Order.”

Pacer wrinkled his nose. “The Resistance is for rebels, not tourists.” 

“Definitely a buddy of Kin’s,” Poe said, in amusement. “But Rey’s been doing Jedi missions with similar objectives, and those artifacts could be potential weapons that’d be best kept out of First Order hands, right? It’s your call, Finn.” 

Finn almost bit his tongue. He said, “He’s good,” and gave Karr a curt nod. 

It was clear that Karr wanted to run into Maize Raynshi again in some capacity. Even though she seemed like a lost cause, Finn couldn’t fault him. She had been Karr’s friend, and she was there because she was hurting, staying with the order that had loomed large in her life since childhood.

Maybe in a different life, Finn would’ve become like her. It would be easy, he thought, if the scales had tipped, if he had been more committed, more unquestioning, too afraid to run. If losing Slip and Pixel had made him turn one direction instead of another.

However, they were in this life. Finn had the blood of Raynshi’s family on his hands. And he did feel guilty. Unlike him, she had parents who raised her and loved her, gone -- yet there was the pragmatic part in him that was unrepentant. Starkiller had killed millions of families and would’ve kept on going.

That was the same reason why he was able to fight stormtroopers without hesitation. Once upon a time, he would’ve been them and served alongside them. Once upon a time, they were stolen and trained and indoctrinated like him-- but because he was the soldier the Order had made him to be, still he fought, unyielding. 

How much of what he said during the Battle of Orish was true? What was he completely capable of, if backed into a corner? _That_ was what scared him and haunted him every day. 

But he told himself: _The choice to be better. The choice to be a rebel and protect my friends, my teammates, and endangered worlds. The choice to take what was given to me and throw it back at my creators, and hope that I’ll remain in the light._

Finn inhaled, exhaled, and looked at his team around him. The ex-warlord, ex-Imperial turned ferocious rebel. The smart data-pusher who had been mistreated by her First Order boss and now dedicated herself to the Resistance. The young insubordinate pilot who was brimming with fury over past injustices. The tailor and history geek who was driven not only by his loyalty to an old friend, but the Force. And, of course, Karr’s trusty droid and Pacer’s little gizka. 

This was Finn’s team, and he was going to keep making these choices with them -- with Poe, with Rey, with Rose, with everyone else in the Resistance -- by his side. He just had to keep having faith.

“Green Team,” Finn said. “That’s our name.” 

Poe started, speechless. Then, he said, “You mean it?” 

“If you and Leia authorize it,” Finn said. Abruptly, he felt self-conscious and embarrassed. “The things you told me about your mother, and what you and Black Squadron said about L’ulo L’ampar… I think it’d be an honor. We could use being named after a squadron like that. I’m not trying to co-opt it, and I can come up with something else if you want--”

“No, it’s fine,” Poe said, hastily. “Finn, it’d be _amazing_ if you named your team after my mom and her squadmates. Believe it or not, that’s an old Alliance tradition. Wedge told me there was a time when Luke Skywalker led him and several other pilots using Rogue Squadron call signs, and they kept using it.”

That was pretty cool. Despite Finn’s knowledge of military history, he was, for obvious reasons, unaware of the Rebellion’s side of things, and he liked hearing Poe’s second hand accounts.

“Then we're the Green Team of the Resistance.” Finn returned Poe’s smile; even though this was a holocall, he could feel the warmth that Poe was emanating on the other end. Stars, he couldn’t wait to get back to Pacara to see him in person.

He canvassed the crew of the _Nightstrike_ : “What do you think?” 

“I was hoping for something with a little more… zing to it,” Pacer said. “But I respect honoring rebel history. I’m not complaining.” 

“I’d say that it’s even technically accurate, too,” Yama ventured. “All of us are relative newcomers to the Resistance. We’re green.”

Karr briefly touched the lightsaber on his belt with his gloved hand. “I’ve no objections, either.” 

Nasz shrugged. “I don’t care. A name’s a name.” 

From Yama’s lap, Meyu chirruped.

“I don’t speak frog, but I’ll take that as unanimous,” Poe said, nodding his head. “I’ll let Leia know you’re on your way. Good job finishing your first mission, and we’ll brief you on the next once you’re on base. See you soon, Green Leader.” The holotransmitter clicked off.

“Home, and then Batuu,” Finn said. “All right, Green Team. Let’s get ready to infiltrate a Star Destroyer.” 


End file.
